


El Latido de mi Corazón

by DipseySparkleFlower



Category: Coco (2017)
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), F/F, F/M, Family, Gore, M/M, Ten Years Later, Triggers, no beta we die like men, some gore, trigger (gore), trigger (suicide mentioned)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-08
Updated: 2021-02-03
Packaged: 2021-03-05 19:40:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 21
Words: 90,748
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25790746
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DipseySparkleFlower/pseuds/DipseySparkleFlower
Summary: It has been nine years since Miguel's journey to the Land of the Dead. Miguel has been gone from home for a long time, but when he comes to visit for the holiday, nothing is the same. He doesn't know it yet, but things are stirring within the Land of the Dead and in his own world. Still at large within the Land of the Dead, Ernesto de la Cruz locates an old friend and finds a way to exact his revenge using those close to Miguel. Will he be able to stop what's brewing by sunrise?
Relationships: Ernesto De La Cruz & Héctor Rivera, Héctor Rivera & Miguel Rivera, Héctor Rivera/Imelda Rivera, Mamá Coco & Héctor Rivera
Comments: 12
Kudos: 31





	1. La Pesadilla

**Author's Note:**

> This story has been under way for a little over a year now. I have been obsessed with Coco for a long time. I have slowly written this story chapter by chapter in the notes section of my phone, so I will be posting as I edit. Without further ado, here is my addition to the greatest movie I have ever seen.

He had been having this dream for a few weeks now. He suspected it had something to do with the upcoming holiday, but he wasn't sure.

Miguel awoke on the beach, just like he always did. Only, it wasn't any beach he had been to. The sand was black, and the ocean was a dark sinister purple. There were no waves because the water was eerily calm. Even the sky above was a strange dark blue. Stars shined above him but they too had a hazy quality about them.

He slowly stood up and looked down either end of the beach. Nothing as far as the eye could see.

He turned inland and caught just the smallest hint of light over the hill of black sand. Beyond the beach lay the Tierra de los Muertos, where his deceased family lived. He so desperately wanted to ascend the beach front but he knew that the moment he tried to climb it, everything would evaporate and he would wake up.

The dream was as strange as it always was. He had gone up the beach in either direction a few times but never encountered anything except sand and water. Either direction promised nothing.

He stared out at the water. Maybe if he walked toward it? He had never tried to venture into the water. Vaguely he wondered why it had never occurred to him to try that before. And it was a dream; what was the worst that could happen? 

He took a few steps into the murky surface. His bare feet vanished from view once he was a few steps in. The water was opaque.

Miguel grimaced; he did not like the sensation of not being able to see his feet in the slightest. He started to retreat toward the beach when he heard the sound. It was like a faint rustling of leaves.

This was new.

He whirled in the water and then he saw it. A cloud of cempazuchitl petals whirled lazily in front of him. They glowed as the cloud moved toward him.

"Miguel," the cloud said. The voice of the cloud of petals seemed to emerge from his very soul. Even in its familiarity, however, it still felt ominous. 

His eyes widened in terror. He began to backtrack away from the cloud of petals, but it effortlessly floated above the water toward him. He was now knee deep in the water and had a difficult time moving fast enough to get away from it. It was slowly starting to solidify into a silhouette of a human.

Miguel spun on his heel and started stomp-sprinting away from the petal cloud. He was not an idiot. If something from beyond the grave was going to bring him back to the Tierra de los Muertos, he was not going to let it.

Although at this point he was losing the rational thought that this might be a dream. 

One word uttered on the dark shore flipped his whole world upside-down.

"Mijo," the voice said.

Eyes already watering, Miguel slowly spun around to face what he had longed to see for ten years now. He was maybe three meters away from the figure. As the petals solidified, he could see the purple of a vest, the straw of a hat, the warmth of brown eyes. And suddenly he couldn't close that distance fast enough. Miguel stomped through the water as fast as his legs would let him and threw his arms around the skeleton in question.

"Ay mijo! Qué tienes?" Papá Héctor asked, holding his tataranieto tightly.

Miguel was reduced to a snivelling baby. His friends would have given him absolute shit for it, but he didn't care. "You're okay," he murmured into the vest of his favorite ancestor.

Héctor put his hands on the boy's shoulders so he could gently push him back to look in his eyes. "Of course I am, mijo. Thanks to you."

Miguel wiped a hand across his eyes, abashed. "I can see that now. I always wondered."

Héctor's face fell just a bit. "I always thought that maybe you could feel us in one way or the other. I can't tell you how many times I tried to touch your shoulder or to hug you the first year we visited." He chuckled. "Imelda was happy to remind me every time, though."

"Are you two...together again?" Miguel had so much hope in his eyes it broke Héctor's heart.

"We are, niño. It has been a lot of work, but we are finally in a place where we can appreciate each other and have forgiven each other."

Miguel sighed, and it looked like a weight had been dropped off of his shoulders. "I'm so happy you're okay," he murmured. He was dangerously close to tears again, but he held strong. “I missed you so much.”

"All you have to do to feel me is sing my songs, Miguel." He wrapped Miguel in another hug.

Miguel returned it, but his mood was somber. "I only know the bastardized versions of your songs. The ones from--" he looked down at his feet and caught the reflection of white in the water. He stared hard at their reflection as it slowly solidified into something he recognized. Miguel could see his own arms around the skeleton immediately, but the white charro suit and dark hair streaked with a hint of grey--

"What's wrong niño?" Asked the skeleton holding him. Miguel looked up and realized the skeleton had changed from his loving tatarabuelo to the man he hated most in this or any world.

"E-Ernesto?" Miguel stuttered, voice suddenly raspy.

The dead crook in question smiled at him, as charming as ever. Only now that Miguel knew the truth, it was the smile of a snake. "What's the matter, mijo? Cat got your tongue?" At the word 'cat' his eyes took on a sinister venom.

Miguel shoved away from Ernesto, but the mariachi was quick. He grabbed Miguel's wrist so tightly he cried out in pain.

"Don't walk away from your elders when they are talking to you, niño. Be respectful!"

"You don't deserve my respect!" spat Miguel. He tried unsuccessfully to dislodge his wrist from the man's grip.

"I think I do. I can't tell you how many times I babysat young Socorro as a child. She even called me Tío Nesto. Maybe you should do the same, niño. After all," he clenched Miguel's wrist tighter and he heard a pop, "We were family once."

Miguel grimaced in pain. "What do you want?" He said through his teeth. His eyes had been watering before from crying, but now they glittered with the twisting of his wrist.

This is no dream, he thought in a panic. Somehow Ernesto was truly hurting him in real life. He had to get out of here, to wake up, to do something.

"I want you to feel the same pain I felt," Ernesto said through his teeth. All through their conversation he had not lost his smile. It was making the hair on the back of Miguel's neck stand up.

"How do you propose to do that?" Miguel snapped back.

Ernesto twisted his wrist and Miguel crumpled to his knees in the water. He gasped in pain. Miguel clutched at Ernesto's hands but couldn't pry his fingers apart.

"I don't plan to do anything. As it were, I am not allowed within fifty meters of you or your family members."

Miguel's brow furrowed in confusion but he couldn't bring himself to speak.

"I'm here because I got a little help from someone on the other side. She has certain...abilities that come in handy once in a while. And because of her," he said, clamping his free hand on Miguel's throat, "I could reach my little sobrino tonight."

Miguel let go of Ernesto's wrist and tried to pry the man's hand off of his neck. Without warning, Ernesto shoved Miguel into the water.

Miguel coughed as water splashed into his mouth and nose. He frantically kicked out, but missed de la Cruz completely. He thrashed, trying to dislodge the man's hands.

Ernesto now clutched Miguel's throat with both hands, completely restricting his airway. Miguel tried to pry the fingers apart, but Ernesto was too strong.

Miguel could feel his body weakening. His thrashing became less violent. His grip looser on the hands that clutched his airway.

He felt himself float to the top of the water as Ernesto released him.

Miguel stared tiredly up at the stars of the sky before closing his eyes. Time seemed to still as he began to sink to the bottom of the water. So many regrets filled his mind, but he was too tired to contemplate how he should have done better. The only consolation was the fact that maybe he would see his deceased family again when he died, once he left this strange beach.

Miguel braced for his back to hit the hard sand of the beach as he sank deeper, but instead he was met with a hard THUD as his back hit the floor of his bedroom.

Miguel felt all the air leave his body in a huff. He clutched at his throat and felt a sheet wound very tightly around his neck. With a few frantic tugs it was free and he inhaled fresh lungfuls of air for the first time in several minutes.

"It was just a dream," he croaked, smiling to himself. "Just a dream." His voice sounded a little crazed to himself, but he dismissed it as he had almost strangled himself in his sleep. He chuckled nervously as he caught his reflection in his bedside mirror. He looked like a wreck. Face red from panic, hair tousled from sleep, clothes ruffled from tossing and turning. Even his arms--

Miguel looked at his left wrist. On it, he could see familiar-looking hand prints as bruises embedded in his skin.

His heart dropped straight to his gut. The hair on the back of his neck stood on end and suddenly he was so so very cold.

He stumbled to the wall with the light switch and flipped it on. He looked hard at his wrist in the new light. He did in fact have bruises up his wrist from where it looked like someone had gripped him very very hard. As he flexed his wrist, he felt a twinge of pain. He hissed and stared open mouthed at it.

Had he done this in his sleep? Already knowing the result, he tested his theory by trying to match his own hand prints with the bruises on his wrist.

No match. These were slightly bigger.

Miguel swore under his breath and looked back in the mirror as he realized something else. He craned his neck and huffed in exasperation as, sure enough, the hand prints of a known killer emerged on his neck in bruises. As he craned his neck, his throat hurt. He tested his voice out once more.

"Hello?" He said. The word hurt his throat and it made him cringe in how rough his voice sounded.. Miguel looked back at his wrist in alarm. Ernesto had hurt his wrist and his throat. Was Ernesto trying to sabotage him from playing tonight with his family for the celebration? That seemed awfully shallow of Ernesto, now that he thought about it. But, to be fair, he did murder his best friend for a song book.

He cursed under his breath. That man...how had he managed to harm him on this one day, when he wanted to honor his family and their new bridge to each other?

He furrowed his eyebrows as he thought.

Ernesto had mentioned something about someone having the ability to help him reach Miguel. And he had been able to project himself into one of Miguel's dreams to hurt him in real life. Why, after all this time, had Ernesto reached out to him? Miguel realized that he was now sprinting into crazytown; who would believe that he had been attacked while in his own room in the comfort of his own home while his family slept in the rooms on either side of his?

Dark thoughts clouded his vision; if Ernesto could harm him in his sleep, could he get to Socorro or his parents? The worry in his mind made him scramble into clothing so he could go wake the others, but rationality won over just as his hand wrapped around the handle of his parents' door.

What would he even say to them? 'Remember that guy who almost killed me in my trip to the Tierra de los Muertos that half the family doesn't even believe happened? Yeah he inflicted physical harm to me in my dreams.'

Without even thinking about it, he found himself wandering away from the bedrooms, past the kitchen, out the side door toward the ofrenda room.

The ofrenda itself was not set yet, but Miguel had made sure to set the fotos up very early this year. He had been feeling apprehensive all week long. Well, he always felt apprehensive, or nervous, or excited around this time. Always eager to talk with his other family members about his college experience, his new albums, new instruments and agents and things he was trying out. In talking with the living family members, he knew that the deceased were listening. He wanted them to know that he was embracing their blessing to learn and grow in music as well as to always treasure his family members, living and deceased.

He contemplated the different things he wanted to talk about; his girlfriend Nina who shared his interest in music but also followed her own interests in film. They had met in school in Mexico City, and he had immediately clicked with her when he found out her family had a home here in Santa Cecilia. Her family also had a background in music, which immediately mystified him.

A scout had gone to one of his gigs in Mexico City, and thought he had real stuff. After shipping some of his songs to the scout--after copyrighting them of course!--the man was hooked on getting Miguel a record deal.

He had plenty to talk about when it came to himself. He stared at Papá Héctor and Mamá Imelda's photo for a long time, thinking how he didn't have the slightest idea what was going on in anyone else's lives. He didn't find out until two days ago that his papá and abuelo wouldn't be there during the whole holiday because of some cousin who had passed away just before the celebration of the dead.

His papá's absence was no small part of the reason he felt this way; it may have been his want for a paternal figure to project Héctor into his dreams. But then again, he knew that at least Ernesto was not a projection. And what if the younger of the two had been trying to warn him of something before the other realized the connection between them and hijacked the dream?

It made sense; if Ernesto was having a difficult time in the Tierra de los Muertos, then it made sense he was trying to exact revenge on Miguel by making him miserable.  
Miguel shook his head, it wasn't even three in the morning and he was trying to rationalize imperial conspiracy theories. Slowly he looked at each of the deceased Riveras in turn. He searched their smiling or frowning faces for an answer before he settled on the face of the one he had spent the most time with.

Mamá Coco's face smiled at him in high definition and bright colors. Hers was the only photo as of yet to be put up in color on the ofrenda (and he hoped it would stay that way for a while). He didn't want to face a loss like that for a really long time. Sometimes he still felt the twinge of tears at the corners of his eyes when he lost himself in thoughts of the time they spent together. He always wanted to tell Mamá Coco about his day but he knew that wouldn't always be an option. He had kept a diary for her, and put up letters for her and the others every Día de los Muertos since his trip as a boy. Even Socorro and the twins had started to leave notes and drawings for the Riveras.

Miguel knew that a majority of the living members of the family believed him. How else could he justify being locked inside the mausoleum overnight, traumatized and starved and absolutely exhausted after having disappeared without a trace? His mamá and papá had luckily been on board right away. Mamá Elena had taken a few nights of calming Miguel after nightmares of the cenote to believe, and Miguel's sense of melancholy peace at Mamá Coco's funeral had made most of his cousins and tíos believe.  
Rosa and Abel were two he was never really sure about. It didn't matter much to him what they believed; they would see for themselves sooner or later anyway. What mattered was that Héctor's memory, as well as everyone else's memory, stayed alive in the living Riveras.

Miguel stared at his family members in deep thought. His eyebrows furrowed and his lower lip pouted out. Even his crossed arms tensed up as he thought about what the dream could have meant.

Part of him really wanted to just dismiss it as nonsense or fantasy or fear; but another very strong-willed part of him knew it was important. And it wasn't like he could ignore the marks on his arm and neck. Miguel pulled the sleeves of his hoodie down and resumed setting up for the holiday. It was a little after three in the morning when he moved on to cleaning the floors.

Miguel started to sweep, humming to himself. He had been working on a love song lately, but the lyrics evaded him. It was supposed to be about his current relationship but he couldn't make himself focus. Nina was hard to pin down sometimes. And he had other things to think about; every time he tried to hammer out part of the chorus or a new verse, his thoughts backtracked from the distraction.

His mind was preoccupied with the dream. De la Cruz had said something about someone on his side who had the ability to reach between worlds. He thought hard.

He knew one practicing bruja, but she wasn't anything special. She claimed to be 'spiritually connected' but there was no way she could actually be magic.

Right?

He scooped the remaining dust into a dustpan and threw it out, thinking. He almost didn't notice his little sister emerge in the doorway wearing one of his father's t-shirts as a nightgown.

"Miguel," she said loudly.

Miguel let out the most embarrassing shriek. The broom launched from his hands. Coquis snickered at her frazzled brother as he frantically scrambled to snatch the broom up midair before it smacked the ground with a loud THWAK.

"Why are you awake?" He asked, panting. "I thought you were a ghost," he chuckled nervously.

She smirked at him. "Are you telling stories again, Miguel?" She put her hands on her hips.

Miguel wanted to retort but knew better of it. Socorro had been mature for her age; she didn't believe in Santa, angels or the tooth fairy. He knew that Rosa had gotten to her somewhere along the road about what to believe in. Miguel himself wasn't sure how he felt about angels, but he knew about the spirits of his ancestors coming to visit every year. And he would be damned if he didn't make sure his family heard about Papá Héctor at least once a year.

He knew he was annoying pushing the issue, but it was important to him. He still didn't know after all this time if Héctor had made it. And for a brief moment the annual fear that he had not succeeded to rescue his deceased ancestor from the Final Death clouded his thoughts. The feeling often immobilized him, but he did his best not to think about it.

Miguel shook off the feeling and smiled at his eight year old sister. He crouched to be on her eye-level. "No. You just scared me. ¿Qué pasa, hermanita? What are you doing out of bed?" His voices still sounded really rough, but it felt a little better than it had earlier.

She looked at her brother so full of trust and worry and said in her tight voice, "I had a nightmare."

Miguel's heart dropped into his stomach. Voice feeling a little stronger, he asked, "Oh, what happened? Do you want to talk about it?"

She shook her head. "Nah."

Miguel couldn't explain why it made him feel relief to know little Coquis didn 't feel the need to discuss her dream. If something bothered her, everyone knew about it. She was one of the most vocal little eight year olds he knew. She was probably just bored or didn't remember it. She looked around the room, bright brown eyes catching everything. Miguel had left a scuff mark from his boots in the center of the room. "You missed a spot," she said simply and shrugged.

Miguel eyed the mess. "Sure did. Tell you what hermanita," he said scooping her up into his arms. "I will clean this up tomorrow and you and I can go back to sleep." He didn't mention the fact that he would not could not go back to sleep quite possibly until sunrise the next day, but she didn't need to know about her brother's PTSD-driven antics.

The littlest Rivera hugged her brother tightly around the neck. He tried not to gasp at where her tiny arms touched his neck, but he managed all right until he got to her room.  
He set her down on her tiny mattress and started to pull her sheet up when she stopped him.

"Iguel," she said, using his nickname from as early as she could speak.

"Yes, princesa?" He asked.

She stared hard at him, her dark eyes knowing everything. He almost started to sweat under her gaze before she said, "I need a song to fall asleep. Please play Papá Héctor's guitar."

He almost chuckled from how paranoid he was being. "Oh, um...playing might be a little loud." He looked at the wall next to Coco's room, where Abuelita Elena's room butted against hers. He didn't want to wake her. At nearly Imelda's age, she was starting to wear down a lot and needed much rest, especially during the night time.

Coquis' little face started to sink and it took Miguel's heart with it.

"But I can sing, if you want," he said.

She smiled at him and settled into her pillow, sheets pulled up to her chin. She looked at him expectantly and waited while his voice slowly started to sing her favorite lullaby.  
Miguel had written her a song when she was first born. He hadn't really intended for it to mean so much to her; it was just something he wrote to try to help her fall asleep. But now it meant so much to her, and he was abashed to say maybe she liked it as much as their Mamá Coco had liked, "Remember Me".

As soon as he finished singing the soft song, Coco's eyes were shut. He kissed her forehead before drifting out of her room. He was exhausted still, but didn't want to bring himself back to falling asleep. He had a lot to think about now.

Anxiety crept in as he glanced down at his wrist. He hoped that Ernesto was only able to reach him because he had made direct contact with him nine years ago. Otherwise maybe the whole family was in danger, maybe just past the dreams. If Ernesto could strangle him in his sleep, who knew what else he could do to the other family members?

Not wanting to think about it, Miguel opened the broom closet to go mop the ofrenda room. After he had done that he headed to his no longer secret attic to go get the things he normally put on the ofrenda. Throughout the year he normally would write letters and take pictures specifically for the family members he had spent the evening with long ago.

He noted with alarm that he hadn't done a whole lot for Tía Victoria. He sat at the dinner table with a few pieces of paper and a pen and began to write out a letter to her. Although he had spent probably the least amount of time with his Tía, he still had a lot to tell her.

He was about half a page through his letter to her when his Mamá walked into the kitchen yawning. She was wearing her bathrobe and had a cup of hot coffee in each hand. Miguel hadn't even noticed her brewing it until the smell wafted to his nose in a welcoming embrace.

She came over to him and set a mug in front of him blearily, kissing his forehead. Miguel looked at the clock. It read a little past four in the morning.

"You're up early, mamá," Miguel croaked. His voice was still sore.

Mamá eyed him wearily before scoffing playfully. "Shouldn't I be the one saying that about you, mijo?"

He chuckled.

"Couldn't sleep?" They asked each other at the exact same time.

Mamá chortled to herself. "I suppose so. I always have a hard time sleeping when your papá is away."

Miguel sighed in understanding. He missed his father too, but probably not as much as Luisa did.

"What about you?" Luisa eyed him carefully, waiting for his response.

Miguel felt self-conscious, but he knew she couldn't see the marks on his neck in this low lighting. But he didn't want to keep any secrets from her. he had made her a promise years ago that he would never hide how he was feeling or what he wanted to be ever again. He straightened and watched her seriously for a moment. She was the first one who had believed him when he told them the story about how he went to the Land of the Dead all those years ago. She was the first to stop Papá from punishing him to hear him out. If there was anyone to tell to assess how the family would react, it was Mamá. She would not call him crazy, and she would listen without judgement until she had decided what was necessary to tell the family.

She had been so helpful helping him tell the story that day.

Finally he relented. "I had a nightmare," he said quietly.

She looked surprised. "And this kept you awake, mijo?" She didn't ask dismissively, as if he was being childish. She was genuinely interested. He knew telling her would be fairly easy.

"It was about the Ernesto," he blurted. Before Luisa could react he started to tell her about Papá Hèctor, Ernesto, his wrists, and falling on the floor. All through his explanation he watched her face, but it remained severe, her eyes slightly wide even though she was tired. She didn't reveal a single thing during his whole explanation. "I have been feeling apprehensive all week," he concluded finally. "I think it has something to do with Papá being gone."

Luisa finally nodded. "Have the others tried to contact you before now?"

He almost breathed a sigh of relief, but he knew his mamá was going to ask all the questions until she knew what was going on. "No, I have never been able to feel them before now."

She stared at a little knot on the table for a moment, processing everything.

Miguel could see some doubt in her eyes. "And there's this," he said, pulling up one of his sleeves. "Ernesto grabbed me, so hard that I cried out."

Mamás eyes widened. She gingerly took one of Miguel's wrists in her hands and flipped it over, noting that it indeed did look like thin hands had gripped his wrists. Her brow furrowed as she looked up at him, "You're sure this didn't happen anywhere else?"

He shook his head.

She held her hand gingerly over his arm, lining her fingers up with the bruises. She gently took his right hand and had him grip his left wrist in the same way, but the finger marks didn't line up.

Some deep part of Miguel would have thought it was cool if it weren't so horrifying what this implied about a malicious spirit on the night the veil between their worlds was thinnest.

Finally mamá released his arms. She gently cupped his chin with her hand and lifted his chin to look at his neck. The idea that someone--dead or not--would do this to her son was infuriating. She ached for him, but she didn't know what to do about it. 

"I want to strangle that man," she said through gritted teeth. But Miguel knew her heart wasn't in it. Both of his parents were firm leaders, but they were gentle souls and knew violence was never the answer, even when things got rough. Miguel couldn't remember the last time he had seen his parents truly angry or upset with him, aside from Día de los Muertos almost a decade ago.

"What should we do?" Miguel asked.

Luisa turned away, gears turning in her head. "We should probably tell someone," and immediately Miguel was thinking of psych wards and shrinks and drugs. He started to retort but Mamá quickly caught on. "No, mijo, I mean a priest. Maybe you have Ernesto's spirit attached to you. We might need to--"

"Exorcise me?" Miguel asked incredulously.

"You did just tell me that a spirit attacked you in your sleep, Miguel," she deadpanned.

He immediately apologized. "Lo siento, mamá. I just--it's 2026. Nobody gets possessed anymore."

She laughed once. “Yes, but no one comes to me at four in the morning with skeleton hand bruises on their wrists either."

"Five now," Miguel said wanly. They could hear an alarm clock blaring somewhere in the house; probably Mamá Elena getting ready to start one of her favorite days of the year. Miguel smiled, briefly amused at the idea of Mamá Elena meeting Papá Hèctor for the first time in the Tierra de los Muertos. She would probably bop him with her chancla but also affectionately wrap him in a hug. Based on how she talked about him now that she knew the truth, she loved and hated him all the same.

The alarm clock shut off, and a moment later Mamá Elena wandered into the kitchen. She kissed Luisa on the cheek with a smile as she passed by her. Miguel pulled out a chair for his abuelita and fetched a mug of coffee for her. She pulled his arm down so she could shower his face with at least six kisses in gratitude. Miguel didn't mind, though; now that he was older he valued every kiss and hug that abuelita gave him.

Miguel began to cook breakfast for his family. Miguel began to pull out the ingredients for eggs with chorizo for breakfast, along with bacon and toast and ham. His mother walked into the kitchen. Her eyes asked Miguel a question, and he responded with a shake of the head. She relented, and started to help him cook. In their silent exchange they had decided that they wouldn't tell anyone just yet. They both wanted to, but there was no reason to upset the family this early in the holiday. 

After all, today was a celebration of the ancestors that had passed on. It was a happy occasion, right?


	2. Los Esqueletos

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What was Socorro's nightmare about? And What is going on in the Tierra de los Muertos this morning? It seems like everyone is a bit apprehensive about the upcoming evening.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I will refer to Mama Coco as Coco and Miguel's little Sister as Coquis or Socorro, just to avoid confusion. I do really think it is meaningful that they named Miguel's baby sister after his great-grandma, though!

LOS ESQUELETOS

Socorro smiled up at her parents. They were walking through the market, and they were swinging her by the arms the way she liked to. This was her favorite dream. There was no Miguel or Día de los Muertos to worry about right now; it was just her and her mamá and her papá, and she didn't have to share them with anyone. They did whatever she wanted to all day long.

But then the mood in the dream changed. Socorro tossed in her sleep as the sky darkened, and an eerie green light shone around her. The market emptied all of a sudden and the stalls all closed down, their patrons gone. Her parents froze as they were, creepy smiles plastered on their faces, their arms frozen in time with their hands around her wrists. She cried out as their fingers dug into her skin. She started to sink, and finally got her right hand free, but not without getting a scratch from one of mamá's fingernails.

Papá's grip was harder to get out of.

Socorro was so focused on getting out of her parents' grip that she didn't notice the pile of cempazuchitl flutter on the breeze and swirl around until they solidified into the form of a skeleton.

She didn't recognize this man, and apparently he didn't recognize her either.

"Who are you," he demanded, obviously unaware of any kind of way to address young children.

Coco didn't know why, but something about this man put her on edge and she knew that she needed to get away from him as fast as possible. He started to step toward her, and she frantically looked up at her papá's face, still frozen in time in the laughter that she loved so much.

"Papá, let go," she pleaded, but already the skeleton was in front of her. He rested his hand on her shoulder, gripping it tightly.

"Leave her alone!" someone shouted. Socorro looked at the source of the voice, but it appeared to be a swirling vortex of petals. She and the scary skeleton watched in awe as it formed another skeleton. Socorro didn't know this man, either, but he seemed at least to be on her side.

She yanked her hand free from Papá's grip and swiveled out of the scary skeleton's grip to run for the new skeleton. Maybe he would protect her--!

Just before she reached him, however, she felt a sharp pain in her scalp and she was dragged back from the newcomer. The scary skeleton man pulled her braid and yanked her back. Socorro cried out in pain, tears forming in her eyes.

The newcomer had finished forming from the petals, and lurched forward. She only recognized the straw hat and purple vest as he became a blur in front of her. He grabbed Socorro around the waist and tugged the scary skeleton’s fist out of her hair. He grabbed her and held her tightly, his back to the mariachi skeleton. The nice skeleton with the purple vest began running away with her in his arms. Socorro realized he was heading back toward the Rivera Hacienda.

She looked over his shoulder and saw that the Mamá and Papá statues had vanished, as had most of the plaza. It was just the scary skeleton, who was sprinting at them with crazy eyes.

He managed to catch up to them and yanked down hard on her protector's shoulder, which sent them tumbling.

The man who had been protecting her scattered in a heap of bones and flew everywhere. The impact of hitting the ground woke Socorro up. She panted as she looked around her room, and realized she was in her own bed. Oh, thank goodness.

She wanted her big brother. Her little feet took her toward Miguel’s room. She was starting to think that maybe wanting their parents to herself was wrong and she needed to apologize to him. But he wasn't in his room. His sheets were on the floor, along with his pajamas. She looked around his room and her eyes settled on the white skull guitar in the corner. Miguel talked about the guitar all the time; it was their tatarabuelo’s guitar and it was his most prized possession.

A seed of doubt planted itself in Socorro’s heart. Miguel had left two years ago to go to college to become a musician, and he had taken the guitar with him. He had left her behind. She missed him so much, especially when he did his ‘little tours’ as he said, showing off his music to the world.

Wasn’t that what their Papá Hector had done? Socorro felt like Imelda and Coco; her big brother was choosing the world over her. And that guitar proved it. He didn’t really care about his family, did he? Socorro left his room and wandered down the hall, when she saw through the kitchen window that the ofrenda room lights were on. She crossed the little courtyard and entered through one side, making her brother shriek.

He was cleaning up for the family. Maybe he did care about the family after all?

“I had a nightmare,” she had said quietly.

“Do you want to talk about it?” he had asked.

She waved him off. The fear of the nightmare had begun to fade as she watched her brother clean the ofrenda room. She pointed out the spot of the floor that he had scuffed with his boots, and he responded by taking her to go to bed.

Miguel was here with her, she rationalized in her head as he tucked her in. He was here to sing to her and write her songs and be the big brother she had missed over the past couple of years. Maybe he wasn’t so bad after all.

When she asked him to play the guitar for her, he refused. In Socorro’s mind, she made the connection that he chose either the guitar or her. But she did not know what to do with this information. She fell asleep to the song he sang her, only to awaken a few hours later when Mamá Elena came to get her ready for breakfast.

Socorro and Miguel were thoughtful that morning as they ate breakfast. The rest of the family slowly meandered over to the hacienda to share the meal. Almost everyone was there now, with the exception of Papá Franco and her Papá, who were away with the cousins that year.

Socorro knew that a cousin of theirs had gotten sick and the family was preparing his affairs, but it didn't make her any less nervous for her father to be away. Even Miguel seemed nervous that their father wasn’t in town that week. He said he preferred that everyone could be with them if something happened. Socorro shoveled chorizo into her mouth and thought about how she worried about him literally all the time but he was not always there.

Of course, she didn’t know that Miguel was actually worried about whether things got out of hand in the Land of the Dead, and whether they would manifest here and harm his family.

When he brought up something about that night, Socorro almost rolled her eyes, like Rosa did when Miguel started talking about La Tierra de los Muertos. Socorro didn’t really know what she believed about the dead, but Rosa certainly thought that Miguel was telling stories. Rosa scoffed at him. Miguel immediately told her he would laugh the day she arrived in the Land of the Dead herself to see it was all true.

And she had told him to go...someplace less nice.

“It’s nothing like hell,” he said, his voice still kind of scratchy, like he was still tired. He was still wearing his hoodie even though it was starting to get warm, too. “It’s actually warm and bright and beautiful.”

Socorro finished her plate and interrupted. “Iguel, if it’s so important to you, why don’t you just go there and prove Rosa wrong?”

Abel raised his eyebrows and Rosa snorted.

Miguel shot a glare at his cousins and then faced Socorro. “Because it’s dangerous, Coquis,” he said cautiously. “I barely escaped with my life, and who knows what could happen if I went back.”

Their mamá caught Miguel’s eye from across the room, before she looked directly at Socorro. “It doesn't really affect our lives here, anyway,” Mamá supplied, removing Socorro’s empty plate from in front of her. “We have so much to be grateful for here.” She smiled at her children before starting to wash the dishes.

Socorro thought about what her mamá said. The things she most cared about in the whole world were her brother and her parents. But it seemed like the thing that he cared about most in the world was the guitar he never left the house without. Maybe if he didn’t have the guitar he wouldn’t feel so...stuck here.

The skeletons from her dream came back into her mind. Was that what it was like in the Tierra de los Muertos? Miguel was super brave if that was what he had to see the whole time. Skeletons kind of creeped Socorro out a little bit; being next to them all day while they moved and talked was even scarier.

“Ay, mija, go comb your hair,” Abuelita said, patting Socorro’s back. Admittedly, she had literally tumbled out of bed and then into the kitchen chair after a few extra hours of sleep. Socorro steeled herself; this holiday was all about looking her best and being super sweet in front of her relatives and making sure to do all her chores and preparing the absolutely perfect meal for her family. People would be telling her what to do all day long, and after it was over there would be so many chores to do to clean up.

Her aunts had already started the maza in the kitchen, and said the tamales would be ready around three if they didn’t take any breaks. Socorro ran to her bedroom before she could be snared into helping stuff the corn husks with pork and chicken. It was her least favorite thing to do for the holiday; she would much rather prepare the papel picado with Rosa this year then get trapped in the kitchen. She wanted to do something fun and artistic with her preparations this year.

\-------------------------------------------------------

The deceased Riveras sat down to a beautiful breakfast that Coco had prepared for them that morning. Everyone was excited as all get-out to see Migeulito and all the other family members again. Coco and Hector were still the most thrilled of anyone to go to the Tierra de los Vivos. Coco had helped her mamá build the small empire that now kept their bones shining brightly in the Tierra de los Muertos. And Hector had decided that now that he had become part of the family again, he would never let it go. The chatter around the table was mostly filled with wonder and excitement for their annual crossing of the flower bridge. Not everyone was excited, however.

Imelda bit her thumb bone. Over the course of her life--and afterlife now--she had caught Coco and Victoria doing the same thing and had stopped them each time they nibbled a bone or fingernail. But now she nibbled, her teeth scraping the pearly white bone. The family sat around her, in their usual supper formation. They chatted happily about the upcoming holiday.

But she was nervous. In all her afterlife she had been elated, excited, impatient, to see her living family. But never nervous. And when she felt something, she stuck to her gut. And it had worked in her favor for the most part.

She looked to her right, where Héctor sat, directly across from Coco who sat on her left. They were chatting happily about the living members of the family. After all, it had been nearly ten years since Miguel had crossed the threshold into their world. He was twenty-one this year. The same age that Héctor had been when he had died.

It was the tenth Dia de los Muertos since Héctor had been reunited with the family. Nine years since Coco had remembered him for good. Nine years since the truth about Ernesto had been let out. She should be happy.

But her gut was telling her something else.

"Cariña, what's wrong?" Héctor asked, taking her hand. She had hardly touched her food. Meanwhile everyone else had had their fill or even gone back for seconds. She stared at her huevos rancheros. What could she tell him?

"Nada, mi amor," she lied, smiling at him. "Just nervous for the holiday is all," she said. This was not entirely untrue. It just wasn't the whole truth. What dug at her gut was this wrenching feeling she couldn't place.

Coco smiled at her mamá. "A mí tambien, mamá. I am too. I am excited." She smiled then, showing off her missing tooth. It was as if she was a child again.

Héctor smiled lovingly at his daughter.

"It will be your tenth year with us," Coco said proudly. She smiled warmly at her papá.

"Technically," piped up Óscar, from one end of the table.

"It will be his tenth Dia de los Muertos," said Felipe, a fork full of rice in his mouth.

"Not his tenth year," continued Óscar.

"Unless you count this as the beginning of the tenth”

“In which the first year is the year that he almost--"

Óscar choked on a mouthful of huevos con salsa as Victoria's heel clipped his shin under the table. She glared at her uncles, but when Mamá Imelda glanced at her she stared at the ceiling pretending she had no idea what was happening.

Imelda eyed her suspiciously, deciding to drop the creeping feeling in her gut for now. She would discuss it with Héctor later. "That's enough, hermanos," she said instead. How could she, or anyone who had been there, forget Héctor's first Día de los Muertos with them? He had spasmed for hours before his body erupted into light. And just when the light emitting from his bones was so bright she thought she couldn't stand it, he solidified into himself again. He had been unconscious for weeks.

She hadn’t been sure if he would ever wake up. And despite what had happened between them, Imelda had insisted that Héctor stay with them until he awoke. But with each passing day Imelda's anxiety grew. She had never seen anyone fade away before. Not even after a doctor and a priest had come to check on Hèctor did she believe that he would be okay.

"People who are going to fade normally continue to glow until they are gone," the doctor had said.

The priest had said that it must be in God's will that Héctor was okay.

She had thanked both men gratefully, but her uncertainty won the battle over her wits while she waited for him to wake up. Any number of the family had caught her holding his hand while he slept, or caressing his hair as she whispered tender hatred to him, or even pleas that he would awaken and come be with her again. Óscar and Felipe would never admit that they had seen their sister so vulnerable before now, but they had once back when they were all alive. Their big sister had been a pillar of strength for decades that only their brother in law could topple this way. They feared that if Hèctor did not recover, she never would, either.

But he had awakened. Against all odds, he awoke. And the first thing he had said to her was, "Imelda. I'm so sorry."

She had fought the guilt on and off for nearly a decade now. She should be celebrating with the family as well. She had grown as a person and had let her feelings flow freely. The first year living with Héctor had been the most tumultuous of her life and death. They fought on and off, but unlike before, when they fought now it was as a team.

Héctor must have sensed her current inner turmoil because even as the breakfast conversation resumed around her, Imelda remained disengaged. She stared at her fork as her family laughed and chattered around her.

Slowly the sinking feeling was returning to her metaphorical gut. She frowned in thought until Héctor put a hand on her shoulder. She snapped from her thoughts and smiled at him thankfully.

"Would you like to take a walk, mi amor?" Héctor smiled at his wife.

She looked at the plates and dishes full of food in front of her. "I need to clean up this mess--" she started, but he hushed her with a gentle finger against her lips.

"Come with me, cariña. The family can clean up this morning." He gently took her hand and led her away from their crazy relations. Julio caught Héctor's eye and silently agreed to distract the family as they snuck away.

Of course, no one had missed them leaving the table. But Julio knew just what would make the subject stay away from the matriarch and the mariachi. "I have a new shoe design,” Julio quipped, as soon as Imelda and Héctor were through the doorway.

Imelda's attention spiked at that but Héctor pulled her gently away.

"He'll show us when we get back," Héctor promised. He smiled reassuringly at his wife.

They trotted past the Rivera gate that surrounded the compound. Unlike many other members of the dead, they did not dwell in one of the towering spires of stacked homes. The Riveras were rooted securely on the ground, in a brick house with Victorian finishings. It was a little fancier than that of the Rivera hacienda back home, but the reputation in the Tierra de los Muertos gave off a stronger impression than it did in the Tierra de los Vivos.

Just barely.

Héctor and Imelda had heard news of an article published in the Tierra de los Vivos that year. It spoke about the truth behind Ernesto's legend and his songs. About a man named Héctor, the great great grandfather of Miguel Rivera, a rising star from Santa Cecilia.

Of course, there were naysayers about the article. Ernesto de la Cruz had literal die-hard fans. The deceased Riveras had learned to avoid them, but the occasional run-in was unavoidable. It was almost as if for every die-hard Rivera fan, there was a crazed die-hard Ernesto fan. 

Héctor steeled a look down one of the alleyways they passed as they started to enter the denser part of town. He glanced at Imelda, who was staring at the spiralling city spires overhead. He grinned and pulled her with him down the alleyway. He knew his shortcut by heart and he intended to show her every secret he had learned since he had arrived here.

She trailed after him, sprinting to keep up. The way that they dodged and wove around boxes, alebrijes, and people along their way, one might have assumed they were engaging in a secret love affair. Imelda laughed with her husband; they had not been this playful since they were teens.

He smiled at her as he came to an abrupt halt at the end of an alleyway. He started to shimmy up the ladder at the end and looked back at her to make sure she would follow. They were now in the thick of the downtown area, where the buildings were tallest and ultimately brightest. She smiled up at him and followed.

Although Hèctor's limbs had healed for the most part because of how well-remembered he was, his cracked tibia never fully sealed back. Sometimes Imelda would catch him massaging it after one of their walks. For this reason, Imelda hung close behind him. If he slipped, she would catch him.

Or die trying.

They climbed this ladder for what seemed like ages. The alleyway they had run down was now sinking below them as they climbed past the height of its buildings. Imelda was able to glance inside the homes of several skeletons. She was not sneaky by nature, but she was curious to see how other people lived.

Maybe she should have been paying better attention, or stopped worrying about Héctor over herself, because the next thing she knew, her left boot heel snapped off entirely. Her grip mid-step was not so secure, and she found her phalanges slipping and for one horrifying moment, she was falling backward through the air.

It wasn't like a fall from this height could kill her. But skeletons could still feel pain. Even if she were dead already, hitting the pavement would absolutely hurt. Maybe a broken bone or two. Or worse, if she shattered something, the pain would leave her down for weeks.

In the split second she did not grip the steps of the ladder and felt her world tilt violently, Imelda felt these thoughts enter her head. She couldn't leave the workshop for weeks. She wouldn't even be able to see the living Riveras tonight. In all her time as a dead woman, she had only missed the living family once, and she did not intend to do it again.

Luckily Héctor happened to be paying attention. He turned just as he heard her boot heel snap and reached out blindly for her. "Imelda!" He cried.

He caught the ruffles of her dress just before she could open her mouth to scream.

They both stared at each other, wide eyed, panting. Imelda scrambled to clutch his hand, and pulled herself to him. He had dropped expertly down several rungs of the ladder to be near her. She clung to him tightly.

"Imelda?" He implored, taking her jaw in his hand. "Amor, are you all right?"

She stared into his eyes. Deep in his irises, she saw the pink surrounding his pupils that had not been there when he was alive. This was one of her favorite things about his new form, because it reflected how he had changed. His youth was gone, but he had learned again how to hold onto his youthful spirit. She in turn had learned how to be loving and kind while still remaining stern for the family. She lost herself in his eyes and smiled.

"I'm fine, mi amor." She took one arm and smoothed out his vest and his necktie. They had been knocked askew in her little misstep. "Although I am very disappointed in mi bota breaking." She furrowed her brows as they looked down at the broken shoe. "I spent a great deal of my life in these shoes."

He chuckled, still holding her cheek. "Perhaps it is time for new soles, mi amor." He kissed her before trekking back up the ladder. She followed him, with her eyes for a moment before continuing after him. She was much more careful this time with only one heel. After about another thirty meters of climbing, the ladder ended at a rooftop.

Héctor disappeared over the edge and then popped his arm back over to help Imelda up as well.

She smiled as he pulled with all his might, and then finally hoisted her over. She landed hard on his chest, laughing.

"You're out of shape," Imelda teased.

Héctor looked wounded. "I am not! I am in the best shape I have ever been in!"

Imelda snorted, sitting up. "Are not. I distinctly remember you being able to hoist me and yourself up trees, or onto the orphanage roof, or over fences to sneak into the neighbor's yard to retrieve playthings."

He would have blushed if he could. "I was trying to impress you."

"And now?" She asked, feigning pain. She held a hand to her chest. "You don't want to impress me now?"

Héctor had never scrambled so much in his life. "No no no mi amor! I mean, yes, but not like that! Not anymore." His voice was much more relaxed as he reflected on what he wanted to say next. "I still want to impress you. The whole family, to be clear. But I no longer feel the need to earn my place amongst you. I feel like," he looked down athis faded bones. "I feel like I have finally found the home I belong in. I spent so long looking for a place to call my own that it never occurred to me to look back at what I had. Does that sound stupid?" He looked up to his wife.

Her face was quivering with the threat of tears. She didn't know if it was the nerves from almost falling, or maybe that deep-seated fear that had enveloped her during dinner, or even soley the words Héctor had pulled from his heart, but all she knew was that he was the man she fell in love with, and the man she would spend the rest of her afterlife with. Imelda threw her arms around her husband, and for one wonderful moment, all her fears and worries about the holiday disappeared.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Huh? A little danger in this chapter too? At least nobody tried to drown Socorro this time! I really enjoyed writing this part, but to be honest it was the most difficult chapter to complete! I did this whole story in little segments on my phone, at different times, so I know my voice and style radically change throughout the entire thing.


	3. "Infamy Can be a Sentence More Damning than any Prison Term" (Emily Thorne)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So what has been going on with Ernesto during all this time? What does the murderer do on the Day of the Dead?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Despite this only being the third chapter of the story, I wrote this one pretty much last. My brain processes things differently and for this one I needed a lot of visuals. I literally looked like that meme of Pepe Silvia with all those red lines and a cork board and the conspiracy theory. I need visuals to see it myself. (Imagine writer on floor with a pair of scissors and a map of Santa Cecilia and the Land of the Dead, and a bunch of cutouts of the different characters).

He was different from everybody else here. Ernesto de la Cruz’s skeleton was a bright, stark white against the faded and crumbling nature of the others he worked with. Over the years he had done a lot of manual labor as a means to survive in the shadows. True, he didn’t need to eat or even really need a place to rest his head at night, but...creature comforts never left the creature even if he died. And hiding from the law, even after all this time, was not glamorous in the slightest. And now that the ninth anniversary of his social demise was here, he wanted to seek a way to drown it out.

Ernesto’s normal routine during this holiday was to drown himself in enough tequila to wake up with the ghost of a hangover. As a skeleton, you really had to overdo it with alcohol to feel a hangover, but he had succeeded almost every year since the Living Boy had tarnished his beautiful reputation as the greatest musician in Mexican history. This year was a little different. In that, he had made a promise to go visit one of his old amigos. An old amigo who had not abandoned him simply because of the alleged murder. There were still quite a few people who would tear him apart in the streets if they saw him walking around when there was a warrant out for his arrest for the attempted murder of a living person.

He couldn’t help himself as he took the long way around to meet his old friend. He took a stroll straight to the heart of the city to check on the old de la Cruz estate. As an esteemed musician, he had earned a mansion near the center of the sprawling Tierra de los Muertos. Well, it had steadily grown through magic because of his reputation among the living and the dead souls. He was truly a well-remembered soul. And, judging by how much bigger the mansion had gotten in the past decade, his infamous legacy would last a long time.

Ernesto sighed, looking up at his large estate. Since he had become one of the most-hated people in the Tierra de los Muertos, he had been unanimously kicked out of his gorgeous multi-tiered mansion. Well, he had really been forced to leave by the large crowd of angered spirits who flooded his gates and chased him out.

He had taken a small group of his most trusted staff--many of whom had aided him in both life and death, and now were literal die-hard supporters--and escaped the authorities. De la Cruz knew he owed his entire existence to this team of people. He didn’t know where he would be without them.

Well, probably in jail, he reasoned. His sentence would have been longer than a century of confinement. There was no such thing as a life-sentence in the Tierra de los Muertos, but there was a clause in their laws that allowed them to punish longer-lasting or famous souls for longer periods of time. Ernesto had fled, knowing he qualified for this condition as one of the most famous people in Mexican history.

He stared up at the mansion as he watched different souls walking in and out of it like some sort of museum. When he had been forced to flee, the Rivera family had used their new custody of the property to turn it into a home for the Nearly-Forgotten souls. He sneered as he watched a hobbling woman enter the tram on a broken tibia.

Such a waste. The home used to be for legends; Ernesto had only had the best of the best at his parties. Kahlo, el Santo, Negrete, Infante, all old amigos of his that now detested him for his little lie once upon a time over one hundred years ago. He didn’t understand; he had been a good and faithful friend to them throughout their relationships. But then one evening the living brat Miguel Rivera changed everything.

Having had his fill of annoyance for the evening, he turned away from the decadent home. When he turned, however, his shoulder checked a woman dressed in dark purple. He was so caught up in the past that he didn’t pay attention when he tried to slip away.

"Oh, um...Perdoname, señora," Ernesto mumbled, uncertainly. He did not correspond with a lot of people, and the ones he did work with were gruff and mannerless. The woman had landed on her hands and knees behind him, facing away. Ernesto moved to help her up when he noticed her left leg had been completely detached. He looked behind himself and found it wedged between a decorative flower pot and the wall of the compound. The heel of the boot had snapped off, but he could not locate it anywhere in the near vicinity.

As hated as he was now, he still felt bad for tripping the woman. “I am sorry, but I can not seem to find the heel,” he said, picking up her leg and walking back over.

He held the leg out to the woman, who now leaned against the wall, trying to get her bearings. “No, it was entirely my,” she began, but then she finally met his eyes.

And then they both stopped cold.

He knew this woman. He had been her friend once upon a time, very very long ago. He had also been the victim of her deadly shoe many a time in life, and at least twice in death. She had written him chummy and then aggravated and then angry letters while he was alive, until she had flat-out stopped writing him altogether. Now he was the source of her family's greatest misfortune. And he knew it.

Ernesto stood abruptly and dropped the boot-cladden leg in front of the woman. She stared open-mouthed at him. But her face did not shift to anger like he thought it would. Instead she stared blankly, wonder and fear and shock intermingled in her eyes as Ernesto darted away.

Ernesto ran away from the woman, even as she finally drew herself up and called out to him. He was too far away to make out what she said, though. He didn’t stop running until he reached his old friend’s house.

Ernesto clutched his trenchcoat close as he made his way up the walkway to his agent’s house. His eyes darted around as his nerves over the Rivera encounter flooded his mind. Where there were Riveras, there were alebrijes. Luckily, though, the winged jaguar did not seem to be nearby.

Ernesto shrugged off his fear and continued through his old friend’s property. The agent and his deceased family lived in a grand estate with a spiralling tower that reached high into the sky, similar to the old de la Cruz mansion. Ernesto made sure to cover the sides of his face so that no one would recognise him as he entered the packed manor. People from all over were preparing for the holiday, whether they were guests or service providers. He did not need another run-in with a hater today. Once was risky enough.

The disgraced musician stared at all the decor in his friend’s home, trying not to feel jealous. He, Ernesto de la Cruz, lived in a shack that repeatedly needed repair while his best friend lived in a mansion that practically prepared itself. Ernesto bypassed all the guests of the party his friend would be having later that evening and went straight for his office, which was on the second floor of the extravagantly decorated mansion. De la Cruz knew that none of this would have been possible if his talent scout of a friend hadn’t taken a chance on the nobody from Santa Cecilia. The only reason his agent friend had all this wealth and all these parties was because of the fame he got from being de la Cruz’s agent. The decadence annoyed Ernesto at times; flower petals littered every surface, including the marble walls.

Even though Ernesto knew their powers were important to their survival as spirits, he still detested the cempazuchitl petals with a passion. They only reminded him of the night that his world had been turned upside down.

Ernesto stared at the door, which had the name Garcia-Bernal carved intricately into the wall. His old friend Antonio Garcia-Bernal had known him for about a century, but he still got nervous before their meetings. Ernesto had left his fortune to the Garcia-Bernal family; why was he so nervous? Ernesto shrugged off his nerves and raised a hand to knock on his old friend’s office door. It swung inward instantly and a stark white skeleton in a nice silver suit stepped out. Green swirls danced on his cheekbones with a smart silver line across his forehead. “Oh, my goodness, Neto, I was just about to send for you!” the shorter man cried, enveloping the disguised man in a hug.

Ernesto shrugged out of the hug awkwardly. He no longer got swarmed by fans; rather instead he found himself surrounded by haters every few months and had to relocate frequently after narrow escapes from the law.

Antonio proudly put an arm around Ernesto. "I have a surprise for you this year, my friend.” He glanced around, and down the hallway to make sure they were alone. “My family put up a photo of the two of us this year. What do you say we take a trip to my family house in Santa Cecilia?”

Ernesto gaped at him. He had not set foot in the Tierra de los Vivos in several decades, long before he had become a disgraced musician. And he had not set foot in Santa Cecilia itself for almost a century. He was just too high-profile to go back there, now, without the travel agents coming after him.

“I know what you are thinking, '' the agent said to his alarmed expression. “But I checked it out; you are legally immune on this holiday so you can go and then the second you cross back into this world, you get off scot-free and you can do whatever you like for the rest of the year. What do you say?”

And that was how he ended up in front of the bewildered agent on the bridge. Ernesto’s facial recognition screening brought up several thousand photos across all of Mexico. He was surprised, but thrilled at the same time. He wondered vaguely if his survival truly did rely on his being liked by people, or if infamy would be enough for him to survive on.

“What did I tell you, amigo?" Antonio smiled widely at the infamous celebrity. "I got us here safely, right?"

Ernesto had to admit he was impressed. He had planned on drowning out this night, the ninth anniversary of the death of his beautiful reputation, in tequila. But when Antonio Garcia-Bernal sought him out and offered to have him spend the evening in a place where he was revered, he didn't know what to say.

"Just say yes," his agent had smiled at him sideways.

Ernesto knew it was his work-face. He had known that face since he was twenty-four years old and had found the man in Mexico City. He was going to ride out Ernesto's coat-tails for as long as he could. His agent was seen as a poor, innocent man who fell for the Ernesto de la Cruz trickery.

Now, as Ernesto crossed the flower bridge for the first time in decades, Antonio was telling him that the Garcia-Bernal family was thriving up until a few years ago from Ernesto's royalties. He furrowed his eyebrows as he mentioned the Rivera family receiving them now. 

Ernesto shied away as a curious little skeleton child looked up at him a little too closely. He still was not very fond of children. And deceased children were few and far between. They made him extremely uncomfortable and guilty for a reason he could not place. The little girl turned back to her family member and he resumed his walking. The encounter with Imelda Rivera had made him jumpy; he felt like at any moment the winged jaguar would come and lift him into the sky with her claws to tear him apart.

At last they came upon Santa Cecilia. Ernesto had to stop himself from turning on his boot heel and running back the way he had come. He had so many memories from this place he wanted to squash; from the orphanage that Imelda, Héctor, and he himself had grown up in, to the ranch he had volunteered for as a teenager, to the man he most begrudged in the whole world. This was the hometown of the Riveras.

Ernesto cast a glance at the mausoleum where they used to keep his body and portrait. For fear of vandalism, historians had moved his body to a museum along with many other musicians and artists. Ernesto de la Cruz had not been very up on his politics or even aware of many antics of the living, but he had heard of the insurgence of plagiarists and thieves stepping forward in the living world. Vandalizing his grave was a very valid fear for his fans, even though he hadn’t worried about his own body since the night he had died.

Ernesto did not realize they were near Antonio’s home until the agent clamped a hand on his shoulder. “We’re here, mi amigo!” he cried, venturing forward into a well-lit courtyard. Antonio’s arms opened wide as he embraced family member after family member and introduced Ernesto without shame. Ernesto soon realized that none of the deceased family he met were ashamed or even remotely disappointed to be related to him; it was a strange but welcome change.

Antonio’s family swapped stories while a small mariachi band played on a stage in the center of the courtyard. Ernesto glanced around and saw that the family was pretty well-off. They were probably the wealthiest family in Santa Cecilia, in fact. The last year he had financially been supporting the Garcia-Bernal family alone had earned them over eight hundred million pesos. Vaguely he remembered that they had several other estates across the planet.

Their Santa Cecilia house was gorgeous. White marble with golden gate along the edges. A fountain with flowing water and tasteful flower decorations in the center. A nice patio with twinkling lights. The furniture on the patio was artistic and rustic. Ernesto quite liked modern furniture; the simplicity far outweighed the gaudy things rich people had back in his day.

Antonio was holding an arm around a skeleton that might have been handsome at some point in his life. He had a solid bone structure with blue swirls on his cheekbones, and a small line of flowers on his chin.

"Ernesto, I would like you to meet my hijito, Gael."

Ernesto stuck his hand out to shake the younger skeleton's but was instead latched into a bone-crushing hug.

Ernesto tried to retreat, but at the same time he did not want to ruin this moment. He had probably made millions for this man and his family. He knew he still had some die-hard Cruzito fans left out there. The scanner on the bridge had lit up like a Christmas tree, for Pete’s sake. It was just a shock to see another dead soul who had seen what happened the night of the Amenecer Espectacular and still found him worthy of following.

Ernesto was shocked that not a single skeleton at the party was angry to see him. If he had known that this family existed, maybe he would have come here sooner.

He made his way through the family party, which had more than one hundred patrons between the living and the dead, before he came upon the edge of the party. Ernesto had had the habit to find the sidelines of any party to take a break from the attention at times. Now, he wandered to the backside of the house, where he found some of the younger generation of living Garcia-Bernal family members. One boy had his back to Ernesto and had a guitar he idly strummed while a beautiful twenty-something girl smiled at him. Three youngsters--Ernesto guessed below ten--ran around the two on the grass.

If Ernesto knew anything, though, it was that the way the girl looked at the boy strumming the guitar was full of love.

"Who is that?" Antonio leaned toward his Tío Esteban, looking at the back of the boy's head. "Nina seems quite infatuated with him," he chuckled.

"Oh, that's Julio's boy. His great grandson I think. He works in the shop during the summer when he isn't in school." Esteban looked up at Ernesto. "I would say you should drop by to check it out but I'm not sure how keen they would be on seeing you there." Esteban gave Ernesto a knowing look that suggested that not everyone there appeared to be fine with him.

Ernesto was used to it. He worked with known thieves and murderers. He eventually caught on that anything he did was either worse or better than what someone else had done. Eventually he just joined a group of people considered to be less than human and just rolled with anything that came his way.

Esteban walked away from them with a dirty look at Ernesto.

“Oh, forget about him,” Antonio said, putting a hand on Ernesto’s shoulder. “He’s always like that, with everyone.”

Ernesto nodded, distractedly following the retreating with his eyes. However, his ears perked up when he heard the young man begin to play a familiar tune on his guitar. Ernesto couldn’t believe it; someone who was alive was playing Poco Loco, to the love of his life, it seemed. The boy began the opening of the song with a deftness on the guitar that even rivalled his own. Ernesto smiled; the boy was even wearing a white charro suit with a magenta bow tie. It was almost exactly like the one he had worn on his first tours. The boy must have been a fan.

Then he began to sing along with the guitar.

Ernesto's eyes almost fell out of his head.

He needed to be sure.

He rounded the guests nearest him and walked around the strumming boy, just wide enough so that he could have some time to run if he needed to. But deep in his nonexistent gut, he knew that he was looking at the Rivera boy. His voice was rough as if he had a cold, and a bit deeper than it had been, but it was him. Ernesto never forgot a voice.

Slowly the side of his face came into view. He was older now but he was still the same person. The same boy that Ernesto had thrown from a building, had left to die in a cenote.

The Rivera boy who had ruined his life.

Ernesto felt a throbbing where his heart used to be. That Imelda woman could have reacted and swiped at him, but she did not. She only stared bewildered at him as he sprinted away. But he did not know how any of the other Riveras would react to seeing him.

Ernesto was filled with a strange fear; what if the boy could see him? Indeed, he misstrummed the moment Ernesto came into his peripheral vision, as if the boy had seen him and was now feeling startled.

But the young Rivera finished the rest of the song strongly. He smiled warmly at the girl across from him as he strung the last chord. He gave off no hint of seeing Ernesto as he stood from his perch on he edge of the garden wall.

"I should get going," Miguel was saying. "My family will be wondering where I am." He swept his guitar--not The Guitar, mind you, behind his back and stood to hug her close. Vaguely Ernesto wondered where the white skull guitar was on this holiday.

Nina smirked at him. "Let them wonder." She looked around for the children, but they had run away long ago, bored out of their minds. She pulled him behind one of the patio heaters and kissed him lovingly.

Ernesto turned away. As curious as he was and as angry at the boy as he was, he did not want to spend his evening watching the boy make out with his girlfriend.

"Interesting seeing a Rivera and a de la Cruz together, isn't it?" Antonio remarked beside him. He had apparently made another round of the party and was ready to socialize with Ernesto again.

“A what?” Ernesto snapped his head in Garcia’s direction.

Antonio nodded. “We called ourselves de la Cruz for a while. Some of us still cling to the title. You knew this. Technically our last names are Garcia, Bernal, Victorio, y Ruiz. But you will always be family. All of these people here consider you their ancestor, Neto.” Garcia swept his arms wide at the party. “Kind of ironic after all this time that a Rivera and a de la Cruz would end up together. Though, I’m not quite sure that the Rivera boy knows he is the one who single-handedly redirected the family-fortune.” Antonio sipped from his cocktail.

Ernesto looked to the couple, who were now holding hands, and grimaced as if he had stepped in something yucky. "How ironic indeed." He looked back at his friend. "How do you feel about it?" Clearly he couldn't be the only person bothered by it.

Antonio shrugged. "I've seen everything at this point. It's barely a drop in a bucket to me."

Maybe to Antonio. But to Ernesto it was a bowling ball in an empty bowl, the only thing of note to happen to him in almost a decade.

Ernesto didn't know where the strange feeling came from. He only knew that he wanted to speak with the boy more than ever. He glanced back toward Miguel, but the boy was gone. Ernesto looked around, but couldn't see him anywhere. He eventually noticed the young man's boot heel disappear around the corner of the wide courtyard.

Antonio began speaking with another guest. Ernesto used the opportunity to sneak away from the party, making sure to find his trenchcoat on his way out. He had shed it once he had realized no one at this party would ostracise him. Well, mostly. He still remembered the way that Antonio’s uncle had sneered at him. Ernesto snuck out the gate and followed just behind Miguel.

Miguel slowly headed toward his own home. Ernesto knew exactly which turns he would take before he did. He even kicked the same rock that Ernesto was aiming to kick a spirit version of. Ernesto followed at a distance behind the young musician, but then he heard the humming.

Ernesto inched closer to Miguel to hear him. He knew he was being stupid for falling so closely on a night when any deceased Rivera family member could spot him. Even on this holiday, he was not allowed to violate his restraining order. He would be punished. But after his encounter with Imelda, how petrified she looked, he couldn't bring himself to care much. Morbid curiosity overrode his being; he needed to know what the boy would do this evening.

Miguel was humming some old tune about a young girl and boy who grew up together and eventually married. It would have touched Ernesto's heart if he knew any better.

Miguel was in love.

Ernesto felt a strange feeling well up inside him. He himself had had many...exploits... in the love world, but he had never settled down the way that Héctor had. He had never given much thought into giving up his career to support a gold digger while she raised his children.

But now, seeing the same dopey-eyed expression he had seen on Héctor's face at that age, Ernesto felt the rage bubble up.

He felt himself lunge for the musician, and before he could realize what he was doing, his hand reached for the back of Miguel's collar to turn him around.

“Wait,” a voice said. Ernesto whirled, expecting one of the skeleton Riveras. But instead he was met face-to-face with a living girl, the same one that Miguel had been serenading. He looked behind him but the boy was already rounding the corner to his family’s hacienda.

She huffed, seeming to look right at Ernesto. For a split moment he felt the fear rising in his gut. She stormed right toward him, a determined expression on her face. Ernesto braced himself.

And she walked right through him. For one agonizing moment, he thought that the girlfriend of Miguel Rivera, a Garcia-Bernal or a de la Cruz by extension, was going to yell at him. 

Ernesto watched her chase after Miguel, his nonexistent heart pounding. This world was doing strange things to his psyche. He needed to get out of here. But still…

He elected to follow Nina, despite himself, toward the Rivera Hacienda. He had not been there since roughly 1920, when he and Hector had left for their tour to Mexico City. He tried not to remember the facial expressions of Imelda and the brat as he and Hector walked away from them. That was not his baggage and he refused to carry it around with him.

Ernesto looked around the compound. Nina took one look inside the compound and stopped at the entrance. Ernesto himself had to stop as well; it was much more developed than it had been when he had visited. The well in the center had been turned into a stage, and at least three extra buildings had expanded the property. The one-bedroom shack that his old friend had lived in was now extended and much larger. There was even an extension of the workshop where Imelda had started making dresses and then changed the business to making and repairing shoes. 

Not a single deceased Rivera in sight. Vaguely Ernesto realized this was odd; it was fairly late into the evening and most of the houses nearby had several deceased members on their properties. Glowing skeletons happily chatted about the growth of their youngest members and the aging of their oldest. Ernesto found himself venturing further in; something was going on, and he wanted to know what.

The Rivera plot was filled with living people he didn’t recognize. He assumed they were family members; an older woman barked orders to two middle-aged men while a group of women rearranged the settings at the long dinner table again and again. Ernesto finally found Miguel in the corner; he was being lectured by a woman who looked remarkably like him. Maybe his mother? Ernesto inched closer to them, listening in. He didn’t notice Nina slip away behind him.

“--have any idea how worried I was? I couldn’t get a hold of either of you!” Miguel’s mother cried.

“I’m sorry, mama,” he lamented, holding his right wrist with his left hand. “I was playing at Nina’s house,” he admitted finally.

Her face fell microscopically. “I’m glad you got to see her after all this time, mijo. I just thought that you were with your sister. We asked her to help us with the mole y tamales when she just...stopped helping. She left. We thought she went to the bathroom but she was just…” his mama held her head. “I thought she just got bored and went hang out with her big brother,” she admitted. “She has missed you a lot this year.”

Miguel’s facial expression fell. “Lo siento, mama. I don’t know where she is. I’ll help you look for her.”

His mother hesitated. Her facial expression was serious as she said,“I think you need to see something, before you go looking for her, Miguel.” She began to lead him away, toward a small room off to the side of the hacienda. Ernesto followed them, his curiosity outweighing his sense of self-preservation. The Riveras were not here yet, and something interesting was going on.

His head perked up when Miguel let out a strangled noise as he entered the ofrenda room. His back to Ernesto, his shoulders hunched, one hand on his forehead, Miguel Rivera looked very perplexed. His mother watched his reaction, eyes furrowed with worry.

Miguel looked around the room, tongue-tied in shock.

Ernesto stepped forward into the room and suddenly understood why they was so upset. It looked like a bomb had gone off inside; photos were scattered on the floor. Ceramic plates that had once held delicious plates of food were destroyed and smeared everywhere. Shattered glass glittered on every surface of the room. Various gifts and letters were sprawled across the multi-tiered table. Ernesto looked up and saw that not a single photo was arranged on the ofrenda itself because the tablecloth had been yanked off.

All that was terrible, but what caught his attention the most was what was in the center of the room.

A white guitar lay in smithereens on the floor. Pieces of ivory, seashell, and even the small piece of gold on the decorative skeleton’s tooth were sprawled over the center of the room.

Ernesto felt a blow to his gut that he did not recognize the origin of. In all his years in the Land of the Dead he had never thought to come here to take a spirit copy of the white guitar. When asked about it, he had simply said that he kept his guitar in the Land of the Living to keep its spirit near his own physical body.

Seeing it now shattered in thousands of pieces on the floor, he wished he had taken the spirit copy long ago.

“What happened?” Miguel asked, finally recovering his voice. He sounded choked up.

His mother hesitated. “I believe that Socorro did this,” she murmured, looking over the mess. “I’m not sure why, but I think she was upset. I think it may have had something to do with your papa being gone. I found it like this a few minutes ago. I don't think anyone has seen it yet, but...” The perplexed woman placed her fist against her mouth. “I’m worried, Miguel,” she finally admitted, meeting his eyes. “About the holiday,” she urged, eyes saying something to Miguel that Ernesto didn't pick up on. 

Miguel shook himself out. His face was suddenly stoic. “I’m sure it’s fine, mama. I don’t think that...this is different. She will be okay. Just make sure Abuelita doesn’t see this mess til I clean it up.” Miguel's eyes avoided the guitar as he stormed through Ernesto out of the ofrenda room.

Ernesto took that as his cue to leave. When the ofrenda was fixed, the deceased Riveras would return. Despite Imelda’s...inaction when he had run into her, he did not want to face the wrath of the other Riveras. There were laws protecting him during his visit, but that might not stop them from trying to harm him. The disgraced musician turned around and saw that Nina had vanished.

Shrugging it off, he made his way back toward the bridge of flowers, not knowing that someone was watching him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wonder what's gonna happen? Where is Socorro? Who's watching Ernesto?
> 
> I do not own Coco or any of its characters. Nina and the Garcia-Bernal family are made up. (don't remember if I have said this)
> 
> I did steal the name Garcia-Bernal. Gael Garcia-Bernal is the man who plays Hector in both the Spanish and the English versions of the Coco movie. I adore him.


	4. Dios bendice mi familia

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Miguel cleans up a mess. And makes another one.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Miguel sure cares about his little sister a lot. Oye this boy is going to kill me.

Héctor felt guilty for taking so long to get to the gate. Imelda was big on punctuality. He was happy to see that a lot of her habits had not changed since they were together in the Tierra de los Vivos. Now they waited patiently together--well, as patiently as he could considering it was his favorite holiday. He felt bad for making the family wait this long to visit the living Riveras, but he had made a promise to visit a friend on this holiday at the converted de la Cruz tower. Imelda had come to get him around sunset, but he had lost track of time inside. Imelda had elected to stay outside to wait for him, sending Dante up to retrieve him. Hector could not place why, but she had always felt uncomfortable around his nearly-forgotten friends, as if they would blame her for the state of his bones and the limp he still could not shake.

Hector considered himself lucky though. He had survived something most other people did not. He did not want his wife to feel guilty about anything. He gently squeezed her hand as she stared dazedly forward. After his visit at the old de la Cruz tower, she had appeared more nervous than ever, almost to the point of shaking. When asked about it, she had simply waved it off in her Imelda way. Hector had thought that their mini-escape had made her feel better, but the holiday always got a hold of them in some way or another. Ay, Día de los Muertos. The day on which he and his fellow deceased family members--along with most of the dead population--got to cross over the bridge to visit their living relations. He could barely contain his excitement, even as his family seemed to be jostled from nerves. He couldn’t wait to see how everyone had changed, what they had all been up to. And not that he would ever admit it, he wanted to check on his favorite descendant.

Last he heard, Miguel had begun to send samples of his music out to agents to try to make a record deal. Hopefully his endeavors would go a lot smoother than they had gone for Ernesto and himself back in the day. Though, Miguel was a solo act for the most part and probably would not have to worry about any band mates murdering him for his music. He couldn’t wait to see.

This year was special. Hector felt it. This year his tataranieto Miguel would be the same age he was when he had died. Even though he hadn't communicated it with Miguel, he knew that Miguel was excited for this year as well.

"Next," called the crossing agent.

Imelda let go of Héctor's hand. Even for the brief moment that it would be, he already missed her touch. His fingers clamped on empty air as he waited for her admittance, followed by his, and then his daughter Coco's.

He looked down to his left where Socorro nibbled on the end of her thumb bone. He could tell she was nervous as well, but mostly excited to see the family. Sí, something about this year was different.

Héctor gently shook his hand to get Socorro's attention. She took her thumb out of her mouth and smiled up at him.

"Sorry, Papá. I'm a little nervous today."

"I can tell," he chuckled, wrapping his arm around her shoulders fondly. "Me too."

She smiled up at him and opened her mouth to speak when a loud buzzer noise rang out.

Imelda stood in front of the monitor. From where they stood, Socorro and Héctor could see a large red X displayed over her face.

"What is the meaning of this?" She demanded.

The border agent was already shrugging away, well aware of the Rivera antics. Specifically the Imelda Rivera antics. "Por favor, Señora, no one put up your foto this year. I'm sorry but I can't--"

Before she could even finish speaking, Imelda had already whipped off her bota and was about to start swatting the "devil box" into oblivion.

Coco called out to her, but it was Héctor who caught the bota before it could touch the machine.

"Imelda, cariña, please," he pleaded softly, but with a touch of a smile. "There must be some mistake."

Even though his voice was calm, Héctor could feel a panic rising in the back of his head. It slowly inched down his spine. He kept his composure, however, and apologized to the security officer at the gate.

"Por favor señora, scan her again. If it doesn't work, we will try the department." In the back of his mind he was considering the worst. Maybe Miguel didn't care after all. Maybe the family wasn't celebrating this year. He and Coco were the newest additions to the dead side of he family, but now that he knew what it was to cross the veil and visit his living familia, he never wanted to let it go.

Imelda looked at her husband. It had been like this in life; she would start to go off the deep end, and he would be there to catch her just before she let her temper soar. She nodded at him, still fuming, but allowed the woman to scan her again.

The red X and the buzzing came across the screen again. Before she could open her mouth, Héctor put his hand on her shoulder. "The photo must not be up yet, mi amor. Let's try seeing if Coco will get through. She has two photos." In his heart he still had doubts, however; they were normally able to cross at the moment the sun set. This year they had taken a little extra time to visit with some of Hector’s friends from the Forgotten Shantytown. 

Imelda nodded and stepped back, reaching for her husband's hand. It was nice this time around that when she was not on the ofrenda she was not alone. After all, his photo was her photo.

A loud buzzing rang in Imelda's ears. Coco turned to look at her mother, chin trembling and eyes crinkled up in sorrow. "Mamá, it's not working." Even after all this time she still turned to her mother for comfort in times of sorrow.

"Allow me to try," Julio stepped beside his own wife. Normally Julio kept to the side until he was needed, but Héctor was surprised he was brave enough to try to check his photo before the rest of the Riveras.

Buzzing. A red X.

Julio stood to the side. Patrons in the line were starting to call at the Riveras. "Why is there always an issue with you people?" "What is it this time?" "Put the shoes down it's not that big a deal."

Imelda almost stamped toward the owner of the last comment, but seeing her daughter's pained expression chilled her bones and held her back.

Rosita stepped forward wordlessly.

X. Buzzing.

Then Oscar and Felipe.

X. Buzzing.

Héctor watched in horror as his entire familia was crossed out and banned from visiting the living. Now the terror had seized his spine, his chest, his whole being.

Even Victoria, normally stoic, was starting to show some deep pain in her eyes. She glanced up at Héctor. "What do we do, abuelo?"

He...wasn't really sure. What did the matriarch and patriarch do in this situation?

The woman at the counter sighed in pity. "Perhaps there has been a fire? This has happened many times. Sometimes we lose photos of our families and we never find out what happened until the newest member joins us." She glanced at the line behind the Riveras. “I'm sorry, to all of you.”

"Mi amor, you haven't scanned yet," Imelda spoke suddenly, realizing. "We should take every chance."

Héctor gathered himself. "You're right!" There was no reason to abandon hope. Imelda and the others backed away from the screen so Héctor could be scanned.

When he did, a green light and a loud dinging noise resounded. Slowly, in awe that it had been his face to light up and not his wife's or daughter's, he edged around the scanner and looked at the screen.

"It looks like several hundred people have put up your photo this year, Señor Rivera."

He knew he was sort of famous in the living world. He had seen some stray ofrendas of fans from way before, but never any pictures attached. He wondered how these ofrendas had gotten any image of him at all.. "Are any of them in Santa Cecilia?"

She glanced at the accompanying list on her computer. "It looks like there are about forty of them." She looked at Héctor with some urgency. "It looks like word spread world wide about Ernesto's songs. Someone published your photo in a magazine this year."

It was true. The photo of Héctor was just his face, blown up and doctored so it appeared clearer as its own portrait. Next to it in several of the photos were different articles, both in Spanish and English. He sighed in frustration that it hadn't been the whole family portrait so at least Coco or Imelda could go with him.

Imelda urged him forward. She took charge just like she always did. "You need to go, Héctor. Take Pepita. Find out what's wrong, and see if you can get her to remind the family to set the ofrenda."

Héctor nodded. "I'll be back soon, hopefully with good news."

He kissed his wife and his daughter on the cheek, and departed across the bridge. Héctor was no stranger to irony; it was not lost on him how extremely ironic it was that after so many years alone, wanting to cross the bridge to be with his daughter, he was now crossing it alone and leaving his daughter behind.

The marigold petals pulled him forward, a sense of urgency in them. He had felt this the first time he had crossed the bridge, and every year since then. Over his head, Pepita flew, a blur of green light to guide his spirit to the familia. He felt a similar tugging from her spirit, but it wasn't as strong as the petals' pull toward the ofrenda he was headed towards. She vanished over the arch of the bridge and flew lower, preparing for her transformation back into a small housecat.

His surroundings shifted slowly from an almost purple night sky to a real sky with stars and a horizon, and finally to the sky over Santa Cecilia. Héctor recognized his surroundings but he felt he needed to respect the living enough to visit the ofrenda they had made for him. He closed his eyes and found himself in someone else's house.

A quiet house, with most of the lights turned off. He saw photos of the family on the walls, but it was too dark to make any of them out. He felt a gentle tug pull him to another room where an ofrenda sat with gentle candles burning.

He followed their light and looked at the photos of the family and idols of this person. The older ancestors looked stern while newer ones smiled and even gleamed in color in some cases. He reached forward to pick up a photograph but his hand phased through it.

"Right," he said. "Not an offering." He looked at where his photo was--a mildly blurry, photocopied version of it--and glanced at the text next to it.

"Remembered forever--Héctor Rivera, author of "Remember Me" and many other songs--murdered by the hands of Ernesto de la Cruz"

So people knew now. He wondered why it had taken this long for any outside news stories to come out about the artist, but at the same time he was surprised it had made any story at all. It was over a century ago now! Why did people still care about him?

Because Miguel does.

His heart filled for a moment, thinking about the muchacho he had met almost ten years ago. He hadn't forgotten them at all if he went to great lengths to publish articles about them and risk ruining the family name. He was now more determined than ever to get to the bottom of this. Miguel was willing to take his story to major news sources, but he was not able to set the ofrenda? It didn’t add up.

Héctor backed out of the room quietly and phased through the wall of the house. Even though he did this nearly every Dia de los Muertos, it still unnerved him when he phased through solid objects. Who made the rules? Why was a gate intangible but the floor was not? Why could he phase through humans and not other spirits? How many spirit copies of everything were there?

Héctor phased through the home and found himself in an alley. It looked dark, and he wasn't familiar with this part of Santa Cecilia. He pulled the guitar that was strapped to his back tighter to himself as he began walking down the dark alley. Then a soft fuzzy thing rubbed against his shins.

Pepita. She nudged him with her forehead and then dashed away from the alleyway. He followed her down the street, to a more populated area. He gently moved around people at first but remembered halfway through a crowd in the plaza that he could phase through solid things and sprinted through them.

Finally the cat slowed, as he entered into a less dense part of town. He could make out individual people now, and skeletons that held armfulls of blessings and offerings.

The hacienda was bright and cheery. Slowly Héctor made his way to the gate of the home he had once shared with Imelda and Coco. A part of his heart ached that he had never been able to return to them after departing with Ernesto. But another part knew he could make it up to them in part by finding out why the family was unable to cross this year.

He crossed the threshold of the hacienda, and was greeted with the warm air of the compound. But something was missing. He glanced into the area, and saw that some of the people there had on somber faces.

He feared the worst--what if someone had died recently and they didn't want to celebrate? THey hadn’t gotten any word from the Department of Family Reunions, though. And obviously there was no fire if the kitchen and the workshop and the houses were still standing. So what was the cause of the grief?

He looked around the compound, and found only four members of the family. Berto, Luisa, Carmen and Rosa were all huddled around the table full of untouched dinner food, talking in hushed voices.

He edged closer, wanting to see what was going on.

"--and she didn't leave a note or anything. Just--"

"And on Día de los Muertos, too. Doesn’t she know how worried we are? When I was little--."

"Her papá is away. Maybe she got scared he wouldn't come back?"

"Don't be absurd. Enrique will be back in two days just like he said. Socorro will be fine. I’m sure she just wanted to get out of being told what to do."

“That was different though--”

Hector's ears would have perked up if he had any. Were they talking about little Coquis? What was wrong?

"Just like Miguel. I hope she's okay. She could be anywhere."

At that moment Carmen wrapped a protective arm around Luisa. Luisa held her arms and shivered.

"Why do my children feel the need to vanish on this holiday? I called Miguel but he didn’t answer. He just got back. He didn’t even know about the ofrenda until I showed him."

Héctor’s ears perked up about the ofrenda. He needed to figure out what had happened to the ofrenda. But Socorro was missing. That was why everyone was so somber. And why half the family was not on the compound. They were probably out looking for her.

Wait. Missing.

On Día de los Muertos.

When no one could cross the bridge.

He had a baaaaaaaaad feeling about this.

He dashed toward the ofrenda room, momentarily phasing through Elena. She had just emerged from the kitchen with a pot full of rice to put on the table. She set it down and rubbed her arm before muttering something about a warm pocket of air. Then she meandered toward the small group of chatting family members.

Héctor entered the offenda room and stifled a cry with his hand over his mouth.

The entire ofrenda was in ruins. The tablecloth was crumpled in a heap. Sauce and crumbs littered the floor. Photos were either obscured by sauce or facing downward, some with cracked frames. Héctor glanced at the top of the pyramid where his family photo normally stood, and gasped to see it was not there. He did not recognize it amongst the wreck of the ofrenda.

Then, he saw it. The white skull guitar in the center of the room. He could not see the whole thing, but he could see enough.

It had been smashed to splinters of ivory and wood.

Imelda had spent three years of her living life building that guitar. She had sewn dress after dress, stayed up well into the nights on most nights, and even. That guitar had been given to him when he was just 17, the evening of their wedding. He knew exactly what it had meant to her. And what it meant to himself..

Looking around at the damage though, he judged that whomever had done this did not know the value of the items in that room. Several different heirlooms were smashed or ripped to ribbons. Part of the shawl that Imelda had knitted for Coco lay in tatters on the floor. A ceramic mug Victoria had made decades before lay in ruins across the room. Héctor ran a hand through his hair. He was almost glad his deceased family was not here to see this.

The only thing keeping him from blowing his lid was knowing that spirit copies of all of those items existed in the deceased Rivera Compound. Héctor knew the spirit copy of his guitar was strapped to his back, and it would come home with him later in the evening to be beside the one he had made for Imelda in the Tierra de los Muertos.

He began to turn around to find Pepita when a soft whispering sound resounded in the room.

Curious, Hector neared the ofrenda, where the sound had come from. Some sniffling accompanied it.

Héctor smiled to himself. It looks like he had found Coquis. He couldn't blame ber for hiding after trashing the ofrenda, either. He might have done the same thing once he realized what he had done.

So it was all a misunderstanding. Socorro just needed to come out of hiding and then apologize and fix the ofrenda. But where was his photo?

Héctor bent forward and popped his head through the table to see if it had fallen beneath the table. Just as he did though, he felt a thump to the side of his face and heard a shriek emanate from the hiding girl.

Hector recoiled and landed hard on his rump. He held the side of his face and looked at the table. The living girl should not have been able to hurt him like that. Unless...

"Socorro?" he called out.

"Are...are you going to eat me?" asked the small voice.

Héctor wanted to laugh despite himself. "No, mija, I don't want to eat you. I'm your Papá Héctor."

There was a shuffling noise as she slowly moved out from the ofrenda. She faded through the tablecloth and looked directly at him. It looked like his response satisfied her but she still looked weary of him. "Papá Héctor?"

So he was right. She could hear him and see him.

She was cursed, just like Miguel all those years ago.

He exhaled. "Sí, Coquis." He felt the unmistakable urge to comfort her take over, but he resisted. "Did you wreck the ofrenda?"

She sighed, looking downcast. "Nobody was listening to me," she murmured. "They only talked about Miguel, and the news story, and his new record, and Nina, and all this other stuff. Papá told me we would have special time together and then he left. Now--" she looked up at the ofrenda.

She looked like she wanted to say more but then Miguel walked into the room. He did not start as Héctor thought he might, which meant he must have seen the state of the place already. Miguel’s eyes fell on the guitar briefly and a dark look passed over his face, but it faded quickly. He was worried, Héctor could tell. Miguel gave the room a sweep with his eyes, even stopping to check under the tablecloth before sighing. He was looking for something. Well, someone. Unbeknownst to him, the one he was looking for was staring directly at him.

"Iguel," little Socorro said, but he did not respond.

Héctor looked at her sadly. "He can't see us right now. We're spirits."

"Am I dead?" she cried in alarm.

"No, mija. Just cursed. We can fix it though when we get to the bottom of this." He was interrupted by Miguel, who phased through him momentarily as he picked up an overturned photo frame.

Miguel looked at the photo. Pulling out a handkerchief he wiped mole sauce away from Tia Victoria's photograph only to note that the glass was cracked.

"Oye, Mama Imelda's gonna have a fit," he muttered, just loud enough for them to hear. He gingerly pulled the four-tiered table from the wall so he could get behind it. Food and dishes now littered the floor, but the table itself had stayed clean when the tablecloth was yanked off. Miguel placed his Great-aunt's frame on one of the tiers, almost as gingerly as if he were handling her remains. He pulled a flower and an uncrushed sugar skull from the wreckage and placed it in front of her photo. He eyed the floor for a moment before finding the cola bottle they had picked up for her this year. It had landed in the basket of pan dulce so it had not shattered. The pan dulce, however, was history.

"Hopefully she waits to open this," he murmured softly. Miguel set it gently beside his tia’s photograph and smiled at her frowning photograph. “Miss you,” he said, before resuming to clean up the mess his little sister made.

Héctor watched his grandson intently, touched that he was taking the time to fix what had been wrecked. He continued to do his best to wipe the remaining photos and stand them upright but the rag was fairly soiled by the third or fourth photograph. As he worked, he spoke aloud.

Possibly for their benefit.

“This is...I can’t believe she would do this,” he said. But his face did not turn angry, no matter how many destroyed heirlooms he picked up from the floor. He began to set the most precious things into a crate. “I get why, I really do, but there are other ways to show your anger.” He chuckled then. “I guess I have no room to talk. I mean, I stole the photo off the family ofrenda once.” He continued to mutter to himself before wheeling to face the ofrenda again.

“I’m going crazy, aren’t I? There’s absolutely no way she did what I did.” His eyes swept the room after he had located almost every photograph. The only one he could not find was the one of Imelda, Coco, and Hector. Doubt swept his brow for just a moment. He waved his hand with a, “Pah!” that sounded exactly like Elena’s. Miguel began to sweep in front of the ofrenda, piling the destroyed plates and food into a trash can. He was careful to save as many flowers and tiny knick knacks as possible to place on the makeshift ofrenda. He took the time to grab fresh glasses from the cupboard in the kitchen to refill several glasses of water for the family.

"I will say, though, in hindsight it was sort of funny. Mamá found this room like this and she made the most theatrical excuses trying to signal me to fix this mess as well as not alerting Mamá Elena that the ofrenda was destroyed. At least this is kinda fixable." He looked at the bad but much-better ofrenda. "At least Mamá Elena won't keel over now." He grunted as he rolled up the soiled tablecloth and put it to the side of the mess. Miguel disappeared for a moment and came back with a fresh cloth, dampened to take away any remaining sauce stains from the glass frames. Their faces were visible, at least.

“The guitar, though,” he whispered. Miguel kneeled in front of the splintered remains. Hector could see unshed tears in Miguel’s eyes as he began to pick up the ivory and wood splinters with his bare hands. He hadn’t swept this area with the broom.

“It’s just a guitar, Miguel,” Hector said, placing his hand on Miguel’s shoulder. He knew that Miguel could not feel it, but it made him feel better to be beside his tataranieto. He felt a pang of loss for the boy, even though the guitar’s spirit copy was on his back. “I have the real one right here with me, nino.”

Miguel set the scraps of ivory and wood into the crate beneath the ofrenda. Normally it held the heirlooms they set out during this holiday, but for now it would hold the smashed guitar and the remains of the family heirlooms. His eyes hardened again as he stared at the ruined contents of the crate.

Socorro reached for her brother. “Iguel, I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I just thought that you liked the guitar better than me.” She followed her brother across the room as he walked back to the ofrenda and studied everyone’s faces. “I’m really sorry. Nobody would listen to me.” She tried to grab his hand, but she faded through him again and again. “Miguel, please,” she whimpered, getting more and more upset and desperate with each swipe through his hand. “I’m sorry.” 

Hector gently put a hand on her shoulder. “He can’t hear you. We have to bless you back, mija. So you can apologize. Are you ready?”

She sniffled and looked up at her tatarabuelo with big brown eyes that reminded him of his beloved hija in the Tierra de los Muertos. She then looked at her brother, who had gone to get more flowers for the ofrenda room. It looked bare now that he had swept out the soiled ones. He started to spread them throughout the room. Socorro wanted so badly to apologize and hug him again. She missed him so much.

She turned back to her Papa Hector. “Estoy lista. I’m ready.”

Hector picked up an unsoiled flower petal from the ofrenda and held it out to Socorro. “Socorro, I give you my blessing,” he began, staring at the cempazuchitl petal.

Socorro stared at it, too.

Nothing happened.

Hector furrowed his brow bone. “Te doy mi bendición,” he said again, con más fuerza. The petal didn’t even flicker. Frustratedly, Hector brushed it against Socorro’s nose.

Still nothing. Socorro stared at her Papa Hector as he grabbed another petal from the ofrenda. “Is something supposed to happen?”

He repeated his blessing, but this petal didn’t glow either. “What am I doing wrong?” He asked himself. He had cut it close with Miguel, but he had still been able to bless him home nine years ago. Why wasn’t he able to now?

Their conversation was interrupted by Miguel again. He continued to speak out loud as he set a photocopied picture of the oldest generation of Riveras atop the ofrenda. "Everyone can come now at least. I made copies of everyone's photos just in case something like this happened. I still don't know where the real photo of Mamá Imelda y Papá Héctor went, though. She could have taken it anywhere--" Miguel’s eyes sprung wide open as he realized something.

"What is it, chamaco?" Héctor asked. Even if the ofrenda was somewhat salvaged, that feeling in the back of his neck was steadily creeping up again. He had a feeling he knew where this was going.

When Miguel next spoke it was barely above a whisper. Héctor had to strain to listen. "She did exactly what I did. She took the photo off the ofrenda. She stole from the dead." He pressed his fist against his forehead and put his other hand on his hip, pacing in front of the ofrenda, just in front of his little sister and great-great grandfather. "She could have ended up there." He looked at the salvaged photos.

"I don't even know if you guys made it here." He glanced around the apparently empty room. "If anyone is here, I'm going to go check the graveyard one more time. If she's not there...I might have to come to you."

Héctor nearly cried out a response, but the someone else beat him to it.

Pepita, just at that moment, snarled at Miguel.

He looked down at the cat, who arched her back in a threatening manner and displayed her sharp teeth in a hiss.

"Only as a last resort, Pepita. I wouldn't go against you intentionally.” He stooped to pet her but she deflected him with a swipe from her claws.

He stifled a gasp and held his hand. "Yikes, that hurt. All right all right." He stooped again, but he didn't try to pet her. "Do you know if anyone made it here?"

The cat glanced at Héctor and Socorro, then at the ofrenda.

"Right. You're a cat. You can't talk." He furrowed his eyebrows in frustration and scratched his left arm with his right hand and began to pace.

"Well, if anyone is here," he said, eyes sweeping around the room slowly, "I love you and I miss you so much." He looked down at his feet. "I'm sorry about the ofrenda," he brought his voice to almost a whisper, ``if I was too late, and, well..." He trailed off. "For what I'm about to do."

Without another word, he stormed off out of the ofrenda room.

"Oye chamaco, come back," Héctor called after him. He followed Miguel past the chatting worried family and to the gate before he turned around and looked back for Socorro.

She was slowly meandering across the hacienda. "I'm sorry," she mumbled when she finally caught up to him. "I just wanted to see if Mamá could see me."

"Not yet, mija," he said. "We have to find out why you can’t go back, and what Miguel is up to," he said, taking her hand.

She held it tight, despite her fears. "We're going out there?"

Frustrated at losing sight of Miguel, he distractedly said, "Yes."

She stopped short and he almost yanked his arm off when she held him back.

He looked back at her, her frightened expression telling him he was missing something. He turned around and saw what she saw; skeletons danced among the living, smiling and twirling through them, fading through various items, all the while the living had no idea what was going on.

"They won't hurt you," he said quickly. He stooped down in front of her on one knee, hands on her shoulders. "As long as you are with me, I will protect you."

"You promise?" She asked.

He nodded. "I promise. I'll watch out for you just like I do every year, Coquis."

She seemed satisfied with his answer. He gently stood and urged her out of the familiar place and into the street. It reminded him of over a hundred years ago when he had first taken Coco across the street. She held his hand tighter and looked both ways at least twice before crossing, uncertain of both the foot and car traffic.

He led her towards the graveyard. He steered around the plaza, all the while watching for Miguel's guitar as it bobbed through the crowd. He stopped a couple of times to smile and greet some people, ask if they had seen his little sister, the like.

Héctor overheard him turn down one of the flamenco girls offering him a dance when she recognized him. He smiled abashedly at her and headed back towards the cemetery, away from the bustling people.

While Día de los Muertos was definitely a celebratory occasion, the mood in the cemetery was somber. Some people were holding a quiet vigil with newly departed spirits, while others mourned people long ago passed. Miguel made a beeline for his family's gravestones.

They had their own plot, with a small meter-high gate surrounding the edges. Near the back was a large tombstone erected for Mamá Imelda, with the dates of her birth and death among quotes she had told her family. Against her gravestone were a pair of new Rivera botas. Hector had learned that the family occasionally made her boots and rested them agInst her headstone.

Miguel stood outside the gate in reverence. Héctor had not noticed it before, but he held a small can in one hand.

"Is that paint?" Socorro asked, beating him to the punch.

Miguel hesitated at the foot of the gate. He crossed himself at least twice, murmuring to himself. Héctor caught "such a bad idea" muttered a couple of times.

“If you’re doing what I think you are, it sure is,” Héctor muttered, crossing his arms. “Did you learn nothing last time?”

Finally, after what seemed like minutes, Miguel wandered into the site, careful not to step on anyone's flowers, offerings, or sites. He made his way to the matriarch's monument.

"Ay, no way Chamaco, don’t cross that line," Héctor lectured. He tried to reach for Miguel's arm but of course it fell through.

Miguel rubbed the back of his neck and glanced around uncertainty. He checked that the coast was clear before popping the lid off the can of paint.

A drop of bright purple landed on his until now stark white shoe.

He eyed it doubtfully before crossing himself one more time. "Oh Jeez, I can't even explain how sorry I am," before dumping a glob of paint over Imelda's gravestone.

Even Socorro gasped as he did it. What she had done was bad too, but now she knew that he was going against the family on purpose. He watched the paint slowly drip down her headstone and then looked up.

The world shuddered for a moment.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think I wrote this chapter pretty much first. I had decided a long time ago how I would send Miguel and Socorro to the Tierra de los Muertos. Also I know that some of you may be wondering about the tags I chose to use. (Big Hero 6, for example. Let's just say this is a prequel to something else that I wrote that I have planned out as well. This story can stand alone, though so if crossovers are not your thing it's not going to impact your reading of this arc.)


	5. Todos mueren, pero algunas personas pasan toda su vida cavando sus tumbas

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We get to see a little bit into Rosa's personality and how Luisa reacts to Miguel disappearing!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another two-parter! I have realized through this project that when it comes to story telling, I tend to tell the same story through multiple parties. it can be tedious and it can be great fun at times. I wrote the Rosa side of this chapter in like an hour but the other part took me three eternities, I swear! (Still don't own Coco).

Rosa had been having a pretty good Dia de los Muertos. She didn’t personally believe in the spirits that wandered into their home on All Saint’s Day, but she did believe in her family. And her family was full of believers.

Rosa wasn’t sure if she even believed in God. Maybe there was something after this, but she wouldn’t really know til she died, now would she?

She had made the papel picado yesterday, which had stained her hands a dark blue with the dye. She didn’t mind; this holiday was for her family. And it wasn’t exactly boring. Her cousin Miguel was visiting from his new apartment in Los Angeles, California, and he planned to stay through til Christmas til he began touring again. It was a welcome change to have her cousin in town to help with the boys and preparations. This morning when she had woken up, he had already set the ofrenda and was making breakfast for the whole family.

Abel had even come home from college for the holiday, even though he was very focused on his studies. Abel had been hanging out with the twins all weekend and was ready to eat and drink and be merry with the entire family. Even Rosa thought it was nice having the family together again.

The trouble came with the actual holiday itself. Her family was very religious and very superstitious. They somehow intermingled the beliefs of Catholicism and Christ with the Aztec beliefs about the Tierra de los Muertos. Not to mention the crazy music ban that some family members had taken so seriously it bordered on relicious. Not to mention more than a few of them believed in curses and luck.

Rosa rolled her eyes as she watched her Abuelita lecture Manny and Benny (now almost thirteen) about making sure to put the broom upside down behind the front door. She believed with her whole heart that it would stop unwanted visitors from entering. Ever since Miguel had told them about Ernesto de la Cruz she had made sure to put the broom there to forbid him from entering their home.

Rosa shook her head and walked out the front door. She had been tasked with finding Socorro so they could hang the Papel together. It used to be just Rosa’s job from the time she had turned ten, but as soon as Socorro was old enough they were tasked with doing it together.

She found the young girl standing outside the ofrenda room, staring inside. Rosa looked where she did; everything was bright and beautiful, the way that Miguel had set it this morning. “Buenas tardes, sobrinita!” Rosa said cheerfully, greeting the youngest Rivera.

“Hola,” Socorro murmured somberly.

“¿Qué tienes?” Rosa asked with a touch of concern. Socorro really looked up to her, as her only girl cousin. With Manny, Benny, Miguel, and Abel, they were overwhelmed by the boy cousins. But that didn’t stop the two young girls from kicking their butts every once in a while. Socorro was a superior swimmer to Manny and Benny, and no one could throw a football like Rosa could. Not even the boys. True, Miguel was best at futbol and the guitar, but Rosa could play more instruments and had a lovelier singing voice. 

Especially this year. Miguel had awakened with a sore throat and wore a hoodie through breakfast. He might have been getting sick. But when nearly every mother-figure had felt his forehead and the back of his neck, they hadn’t found a temperature. Abuelita had tried to send him to bed with a tube of Vaporub but he had emerged nearly an hour later in his charro suit and snuck out to go see his girlfriend for a little while. He knew to be back by sundown, however.

Rosa put a hand on Socorro’s shoulder when the little girl did not immediately answer; she felt like she did that fairly frequently but it was just such a natural gesture. Socorro was the perfect height to rest a hand on her shoulder, and she fit so neatly beside Rosa. Rosa looked out for her a lot now. Since Miguel was afraid of the water she had taught Socorro how to swim and had started to teach her about shoemaking and shoe-shining.

Rosa had elected to take online classes to get a business degree. It wasn’t stated outright, but when it came time, she would be the one to take over the shoe shop. Now that Miguel was a serious musician with an album out and a brand, and Abel was still working on school for art, it was up to her to take over the family business. She didn’t mind; she loved making shoes. There was a rhythm and order to it that she absolutely adored.

“Do you believe in this stuff?” Socorro finally asked.

Rosa balked; Socorro was barely nine; she was too young to be having doubts about life and death. Rosa did not know what to say. She stuttered through her sentences. “Well...I think it’s good to believe in a higher power,” she breathed out. That part was true, at least. Rosa thought it was good to believe in something bigger than yourself. It was proven to lead to healthier lifestyles and happiness. But...she did not believe in anything after death. She believed that the moment she took her last breath she would cease to exist.

“But do you believe?” Socorro asked, with more force. Her eyes searched Rosa’s. She looked up to Rosa; Rosa was the big sister she never had, and a stand-in while her brother was away at college and making music.

“Well…” Rosa said, catching the eyes of Mama Imelda’s photograph. “I don’t personally believe in anything, really.”

Socorro’s eyes searched hers. “Not even God?”

Rosa pursed her lips. That had been the hardest part to talk about and now Socorro was digging deeper in the issue than she wanted to. “I … don’t think so. But if you do, that is great,” she said with a smile. “It’s really good to believe in blessings and miracles and things like that.”

Socorro nodded. “Did Abuelita make the boys put the water around the house yet?”

Rosa chuckled, relieved that the subject had been changed. She didn’t like to think about death a lot. “No, she was busy lecturing them about the broom by the door. Why don’t we do that after we finish the papel picado?”

The littlest Rivera crossed her arms, looking at the ofrenda. “You do a lot for them even though you don’t believe,” she observed.

“Sure do,” Rosa said, leading her little cousin to the kitchen, where the papel picado had finished drying and needed to be hung. The tias were at the table finishing up the tamales. They were in the last hour of work; steaming heaps and heaps of tamales. A good amount of them would go to the ofrenda and to the mouths of the living Riveras that night. But then a lot more of them would go to the freezers of the family to last til the Nochebuena, when they would make more and have them last til la Pascua de Resurrección. And on and on it went.

Tia Luisa had elected to stay out of the kitchen that tamale-session because she had been preoccupied. The moment Abuelita noticed she was worried, she had been banished from the kitchen. Because everyone knew that if you made tamales while you were mad or worried, they would not taste good. These were possibly the most important tamales the family made all year.

So Ti a Luisa had been tasked with cleaning the workshop with Rosa’s father, Berto. Abuelita was certain that every year the deceased Riveras checked out the workshop to see what changes had been made. The biggest changes had been when the family had started to earn the Ernesto de la Cruz royalties. They had bought new sewing machines and had upgraded to a wide variety of leathers and even had considered opening another store in the next town over.

That was all speculative, though; Rosa had a feeling the business would remain family-owned. It didn’t feel very...Imelda-y to make it into a chain. Even having two stores seemed a little overboard. Rosa had been talking with the older Riveras about it, as one of their three business majors.

In the end it had been decided that they would save the money for other things, like vacations. There had been slow seasons in the past for the family; they were very frugal with their spending. Abuelita managed most of the family’s finances but she would rather die than see this business fail. It had survived more than three recessions and she would insure that it survive a million more. This family business was Imelda to Abuelita.

“Why do you do this stuff, then?” Socorro asked as Rosa lay the strands of papel picado in her arms. 

“Because I love my family. I stay here because I want to be here for them, and run the business someday. It’s important to them, and to me.” She smiled at her little cousin, but Socorro only had more to think about. She was somber as they hung the papel picado across the street and connected theirs to the fence of the shops nearby. She was quiet while they filled glasses and placed them throughout the house.

“For evil spirits,” Abuelita had told them. “They get trapped in the water and the house is purified.”

Rosa wondered if both she and Socorro thought that it was pointless to do these tasks. She had considered them pointless for almost a decade now; she had realized that she thought Miguel was full of hooey after he ‘came back’ from the Tierra de los Muertos that night and hadn’t cracked a Bible since. But she had elected to partake in the holiday because it made her family happy. And that made her happy.

But Socorro was anything but happy. Her eyes kept meeting Rosa’s and then looking away with sadness. Rosa thought it might be about their God discussion, but it turned out to be something else entirely. Her aunts called on Socorro to help them clean up the kitchen, and Rosa took that as a cue to sneak off to go listen to the mariachi play in the plaza. She did this every year with her brothers; Abel and Rosa each took one of their brothers by the hand and led them to go listen to music in the plaza. The only difference was this year the boys said they were “too old to be holding hands”. They were big men now. They bought elotes for the boys from a vendor with a promise not to tell anyone they had ruined their appetites. Though the boys were growing like weeds; they would be hungry again when it was time for dinner.

It was around seven-fifteen when she and Abel got a phone call from the familia. They weren’t late yet; they had been instructed to be home for dinner around seven-thirty.

But as their phones both dinged at the same time, Rosa’s heart sank; she didn’t like the idea of them both getting a phone call ahead of time.

“Bueno,” they said at the same time, and both of their faces fell.

“Socorro’s missing,” Mama said to Rosa. She suspected Abel got the same message because he immediately said, “We’ll check the plaza for her.”

Rosa looked at the bandstand, where some mariachi had begun to play a spin-off of an Ernesto song. She gripped her phone tight as she spoke with her mama. She had felt this sense of dread only a couple of times before; but now she attached guilt to it. Her conversation ran through her head as she checked every child’s face and began wandering the streets with Manny beside her. Abel had grabbed Benny and they checked the opposite side of the plaza.

Questions burned in Rosa’s mind as she fretted for her cousin. Maybe she had gone to find Miguel? Was she mad that Rosa had taken Benny and Manny and Miguel had just gont to see his girlfriend? Maybe she had been upset about what they talked about and didn’t want to be here anymore? 

Rosa shoved that thought out of her head. No. She would not believe that for a second. Her little cousin was not suicidal or sad. Maybe she missed her brother, but that would not make her want to go...elsewhere.

Rosa swung by the graveyard, and noticed her Tia Luisa heading inside as well. She made a beeline for her aunt, determined to help her out.  
\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Miguel glanced around the graveyard one last time. He imagined it would have been like last time; skeletons in both modern and antique clothing would be wandering the sites, watching their family prepare for their arrival. Maybe a few skeleton children would play with some of the neighborhood pets and alebrijes and some older couples would coo over the growth of their littlest descendents. And maybe, just maybe...

He couldn't wait any longer. Nevermind what she did; Socorro was out there somewhere and she needed a guide. He had to take the chance. He was the only one who knew to check this place.

Using the screwdriver, Miguel slowly opened the can of purple paint. The family had bought it some-odd months ago for an art project of some kind but had left a significant amount behind. Frowned as a drop of paint landed on his shoe.

"Oh, jeez, I can’t even explain how sorry I am," Miguel murmured, before pouring the thick, brightly- pigmented paint over the tombstone. The words describing his late great great grandmother were slowly obscured by the viscous substance.

The world shuddered.  
"Miguel! Stop!" Someone shouted at him.

Mamá. 

Mierda.  
Miguel slowly turned to face her. Apparently, he had been spotted pouring paint on the grave. Which meant that his attempt to become a spirit again had not worked. If she could see him, he definitely hadn't succeeded in cursing himself again.  
"Mamá, it's not what it looks like," he began, putting his hands up. But somewhere in that motion, everything around him shuddered again. Petals scattered around the graves flickered dimly, and a small breeze lifted a few off the ground.

"Miguel, what have you done?" Luisa demanded. She was angry.

She looked at her son incredulously and then the matriarch's headstone. Next to it stood Héctor's, completely untouched, a pristine white compared to her faded grey and now-purple one.

"Wait, Mamá, it's not what you think," he started. He began to walk toward her but the woozy feeling returned. "I think Socorro--" as he unknowingly walked through Héctor and Socorro’s concerned spirits, his voice faltered a bit, "ended up where I did. I need to go to her."

"Because she ruined the ofrenda? Miguel this is serious! Those headstones are a symbol of their lives! You can’t just--" she stopped and looked at her son strangely. "Mijo, are you all right?"

He was most definitely not all right. Miguel gripped his skull and his whole world tilted drastically. Both Luisa and Héctor’s spirit reached out to catch him as he teetered to the right and fainted.

"Miguel!" Luisa and Héctor called at the same time.

Luisa was sure that he was going to hit his head on Rosita's headstone so she reached to cushion his skull first. Héctor had the same thought and did the same thing.

Bracing herself to catch Miguel’s head to prevent a serious concussion, she was ready to catch the boy with the force of his fall. Instead, Luisa was met with the gentle storm of cempazuchitl petals as Miguel's body was whisked away, vanishing into the night. Vaguely she registered the guitar clanging as it fell through the petals and landed off to the side.

Luisa froze and looked at her hands, filled with glowing petals. She opened her mouth to say something or to scream, but nothing came out.

Héctor looked down at his hands. He, too, had tried to cushion Miguel’s head from hitting the hard stone but had only been met with a handful of the petals. They both sat there for a moment processing what had happened before Luisa seemed to look directly at the handfuls of petals Héctor was holding.

She gasped and backed away on her hands and feet, petals crunched in her fists, scrambling until she hit her head on Coco's headstone.

"Mamá are you all right?" Socorro asked. “Where did Miguel go?”

She did not respond to her ghostly daughter, only looked at the pile of petals her son had become.

"He's--he went again." Several questions were burning in her mind but now most of them focused on Héctor, who was still holding the handfuls of petals in shock. She looked at where she thought his face might be.

"Ernesto?" She asked, horror flashing in her eyes.

Héctor reeled. "No, no! Niña I am not that man," he said.

She did not react to his words. She looked like she was in shock. Just then, Pepita the housecat wandered into the grave site, and began to rub against Socorro’s legs. The girl, on instinct, began to pet her. Luisa watched in wonder as the cat’s ears and fur folded back as if by an invisible force. The cat looked pointedly at Luisa and then at Socorro and Héctor in turn.

"You can see it too?" She asked the cat. "So I'm not going loca?" She almost seemed relieved, but then, "Who is it?" She looked at the handfuls of crumpled petals she still held and then back at where she thought Hèctor’s face was.

Héctor refused to move. He knew something bad had happened to Miguel, but he knew that this moment was important. He looked at the cat, who now nudged one of his hands. He dropped one handful of the petals, which glowed weakly and then settled back to the earth. He stroked under her chin.

Luisa eyed the cat as its ears curled and bent to the force of Héctor's hands. She edged closer to the unseen spirit, and locked eyes with the cat.

"Can you tell her who I am?" asked Héctor.

The cat blinked at him, and gently took hold of one of his fingers in her mouth and dragged his hand over to Luisa's. Her fist rested on her knee. The moment they made contact however, she lifted her hand slightly in fear.

The cat eyed her annoyed and waited for her to settle again.

Luisa relaxed and reached to pet the cat's head. Héctor was released from the cat's mouth and reached for Luisa's hand.

When she felt the gentle brush of another person's hand against hers, Luisa nearly fainted. Up until this moment she had been very extra certain that she was going to faint from shear stress. She was almost proud.

Then the cat was gone. In fact, everything was gone. She was sitting on her knees in what looked like an ocean of clear water that stretched as far as the eye could see. Her knees and ankles were submerged, but the water was shallow, only a few centimeters deep. It wasn't cool or warm. It just was. Above her lazy pink clouds floated, as if they were kissed by a gentle breeze and a touch of sunset, but there was no sun to be found.

She looked in front of her, and saw a man. In her heart she knew exactly who this man was. Her husband's great grandfather, long-returned to his family after being nearly-forgotten, after being banished. The prodigal father. Her son's best friend, her son's mentor.

Only when Miguel had described him in his dreams and his journey to La Tierra de los Muertos, he had been a skeleton. The man in front of her was not a skeleton. He was a man with flesh and muscle and blood. And he wasn’t wearing a scrappy jacket and ripped trousers; he was wearing a light pink charro suit with a magenta bow tie. He looked directly at Luisa, and started, but he seemed remarkably at ease. Surprised, but peaceful at the same time. As if he had known this would happen.

Luisa felt similarly. "Papa Héctor?" She asked him.

"Luisa," he said back.

Their hands still touched, but neither released for fear of ending whatever was happening.

"Where are we?" He asked, just as she started to ask the same question.

They chuckled nervously. "I'm not sure," she said. “This doesn't look like anything I have ever seen."

"Me neither. This isn't like anywhere. Maybe it's like the bridge," he wondered aloud. “Another place between the worlds where spirits can collide.”

She looked around in awe before settling on his face again.

"Where did Miguel go?" She asked point-blank.

He searched himself and felt a vague sense of worry, but no overwhelming sense of dread. "I'm not sure. I think he's...okay though, wherever he ended up. I have a feeling. I'm not sure how to explain it."

She considered this. "Have you seen Socorro? She ran off earlier after destroying the ofrenda."

"She is safe. She is with me--well, wherever my body is. She is cursed, so she will need a blessing to cross back over."

"Why haven't you blessed her yet?" Luisa asked. Not unkindly. Not incredulously. Out of curiosity. She seemed to relax a little more now that she knew where her littlest was. Miguel was hopefully just in the Tierra de los Muertos somewhere. He was old enough to know what to do.

"I tried to but it wouldn't work. I'm assuming it has something to do with the fact that I was actually able to cross over but the others weren't. I suspect one of them can bless her and send her home."

Luisa nodded thoughtfully. The world around then began to shift. The sky was slowly darkening to a point where they could no longer see each other. Héctor could feel Socorro tugging on his arm in the real world and Luisa could feel someone holding her arm on her side. She grasped Héctor's hand tightly.

"Take care of them tonight, please. Miguel had a vision earlier today about Ernesto. I think he might come after you."

They were in total darkness now. "Urgency was in his voice. "I will, niña." He stuck his hand blindly out and grazed her cheek. "Te quiero."

"Te quiero."

Luisa opened her eyes and saw stars above her. The sky had returned to its normal hue. The earth below her was solid. She slowly sat up and felt a gentle hand ease her to a sitting position.

"Tía Luisa, you fainted," someone was saying. Rosa. She held her aunt upright as the woman reoriented herself to her surroundings.

Pepita and Héctor were nowhere to be seen. She wasn't surprised however. She looked down at her hand and realized she still had a handful of the cempazuchitl petals that had transported Miguel to the Land of the Dead. She quickly pocketed then and looked at Rosa.

"--happened? Did you see who did this? Did they hurt you?" Rosa was saying. She looked around frantically, but there was no sign of a culprit. Their plot of the cemetery was off to one corner, out of sight of many of the celebrating people.

"He needed to go back."

Rosa furrowed her eyebrows. “What?” She looked from her aunt to the pile of petals and then at the can of paint and the fallen guitar and sighed in exasperation. As far as Miguel's tale went, Rosa was one of the nonbelievers. She just thought he had made up a story. Luisa vaguely wondered what was going through her sobrina’s head as she surveyed the mess.

Now most of the adults believed the tale as well, but she wasn't sure how quickly she wanted the family to jump on the crazy train this year.

Rosa helped her aunt stand and let her breathe. "Well, then..."

Rosa finally looked at the headstone as her aunt reoriented herself. The paint had already begun to set. She rolled her eyes and made her way over to the stone. The boots were easy to save from the goopey mess but the flowers were history.

Rosa picked up the can of paint and examined it.

"Water soluble." She shook her head and rolled her eyes.

"This will come out," she said loudly, with just a touch of annoyance. "With some hard work, but it should come out with water." She was relieved to know that, but Luisa still looked scared. And as she should be, Rosa thought; her children were missing.

"We'll find them," Rosa said determinedly. "He probably went to go find her."

"He did," she said, staring at the spot where Héctor had been. She was with the family now. They would be fine rescuing Socorro. If only Miguel had stayed so she wouldn't have to worry about both of her children.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ay, these children are going to be the death of everyone (Luisa). Also where the heckin' heck did Miguel go?
> 
> I feel for little Socorro. My siblings got along with each other but I was usually left in the dust. Of everyone I relate most to Socorro as a child and Rosa as an adult. I love all the Riveras so much. <3
> 
> last thing: I am inferring a lot of things are semi-canon and I have a lot of head canons that I base my stuff off of. I have read a lot of Coco lit, but if there is something you notice I have used that looks familiar or is from another fic, or is a headcanon you came up with, let me know! I love this fandom and I want everyone to get credit where credit is due!


	6. Llamada de la familia

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nina tries to right a wrong and finds herself in over her head.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My family and friends are safe from the fire, thank the Lord. Two friends lost their homes but they escaped with their lives. I got the call at one in the morning about the fire, and they didn't get anything until the fire was at the front door. The air in my town is still filled with smoke and we can't be outside for long periods of time without serious harm. The news says ithe smoke will last for a couple of weeks. But I'm so grateful that my family is safe.

llamada de la familia

Nina watched her boyfriend leave with a smile. She was so incredibly infatuated with him, it wasn’t funny. To a point that if anything happened to him, she wouldn’t know what to do with herself. And she wasn’t just in love with him, either. She loved his entire family. They looked forward to her visits every week. She gave Mamá Elena flowers on el diez de mayo every year, and she spent a significant amount of time with Rosa and Socorro.

Rosa considered her a best friend and an older sister. Nina had been the first one to hear about Rosa’s breakup last month. She had consoled poor Rosa through the grief of the broken-off relationship and encouraged her to be with her family and find her joy with them. And Socorro loved hanging out with Nina because it meant a lot of attention and fun times, even though Miguel was not around.

Even so, she had felt a little resistance from Miguel’s mamá at first. Luisa thought she was a nice girl, but there was always some boundary with her that made Luisa not trust her. The first time she had met Nina, Luisa was skeptical of her character, asking Miguel behind a closed door how much he knew about her. Miguel had defended her of course; it wasn’t like she was a terrorist or something. But she did have a...strange family.

That was why she had done it. Nina didn’t like to think about what she had done in the beginning of her relationship with Miguel much because it made her ache with guilt. But in the end it had proven more helpful than harmful. He loved her and that was all that mattered to her.

Nina watched as Miguel played “Poco Loco” for her. As he strummed, she felt the air change a bit, as if a breeze had passed through her soul. Even Miguel seemed to notice the change, misstrumming in one of the easier parts of the song. She had pretended she didn’t notice, only smiling at him lovingly.

“Stay with me,” she had asked him after he finished. But she knew that the family was too important to him, especially on this day. He went home every two months to be near his family, never letting more time than that pass between visits. He wanted to make sure they knew he loved them, even more than music.

She met him on one such visit, three years ago. She was walking around exploring Santa Cecilia. Her family had just moved back into their home here, after their fortune had been diverted. She didn’t care much that it was to a family of nobodies. The money never motivated her much. Nina kept her motivations high by focussing on making her own way through life. And anyway, after they had sold a few estates they were still fairly wealthy. And their family still held a strong status among their friends. Their reputation had not taken as big a hit as the source of their wealth had.

The day Nina met Miguel, she had spent the afternoon relaxing in the town plaza, drinking café con leche and eating various pastries and treats from different carts. She felt like a tourist, even though this would be the home she would stay in until her family settled.

Who knew that she would extend her stay?

Her boot heel had snapped when she circled the bandstand in the center of the plaza. For one horrifying moment Nina was convinced she was going to totally eat shit when a hand reached out and caught her arm midair. She turned back to the young man, panting from the adrenaline rush.

It was the beautiful musician Miguel. He helped her up, and then looked at her shoe. “My family owns the shoe shop in town,” he supplied. “We could fix your shoe, if you wanted.” He seemed nervous as he led her back to the store. He even took the time to replace her sole, and then took the time to redo the heel of the second shoe.

He rambled on and on as he worked on her shoe. She found him enchanting. And he found her…

Enchanting.

It was just a tiny nudge. She hadn’t meant to make him fall head-over-heels in love with her. Just to like her a little bit, enough to maybe go on a date with her sometime?

She stopped nudging about three months into their relationship, realizing that even from a distance, he was totally in love with her. They stayed up til the wee hours of the morning calling and texting each other while he was in Los Angeles. He wrote her songs, and she wrote him poetry.

He had played her so many of his new songs that Día de los Muertos. She had even recognised that he had transformed one of her poems into a song. She could almost feel the love radiating off of him like warmth. Almost like his spirit was singing her too.

It didn’t take her long to tell that Miguel was different. He...felt different from everybody else. Like he had no worries, as if he knew exactly what he wanted to be and do, and exactly where he would go. She had felt empty and a little scared before she met him, but now she felt optimistic that there was a future for her too. Maybe even a future with Miguel.

Her future with him was important to her, but the change in the air took the front burner that Día de los Muertos. Nina could tell something was different but she couldn’t quite place it until after Miguel left. 

She felt a different spirit there that night. It was...strong, but it was darker, colder, than the others wandering her family’s courtyard. She decided to follow it. Eventually she caught on that it had negative intent toward Miguel. It followed him closely.

“Wait!” she called when it was near Miguel. Its energy seemed to get angrier the closer it got to him.

The spirit stopped but Miguel kept going. He didn’t hear her. He seemed to be in his own little world as he made his way home.

Nina couldn’t find the spirit again until she walked straight through it. Its energy sent a shiver down her body, but she was able to gauge his aura. Male, hated, angry, very well-known, malicious as hell. But there wasn’t really anything he could do to hurt Miguel. He had no power in this realm. Even if Miguel had traversed the veil, this malevolent spirit could not harm him.

Miguel had told Nina about entering the Tierra de los Muertos last year. It didn’t take much logic to figure out that that trip had made Miguel more emotionally certain in his endeavors both to pursue music and to be as adventurous as possible with no consequence. Well, with the exception of the water. But that was a different story.

As Nina followed, she felt something else in the air. It wasn’t anything like the malicious spirit. It was calling her, louder, more needy than anything else. It needed help. It wanted her to come to it.

Almost instantly she knew what it was; she had felt this call before on the past two Días de los Muertos. It was a strange pull on her that tugged at her very center. Nina had known who it was from the moment she migrated back to Santa Cecilia; in the fifties her great-aunt had been murdered here and left beneath a mango tree. Her spirit was trapped there in the earth.

Even though she was family, Nina was weary to follow a spirit that called to her on this night of all nights. Her family had a multitude of twisted women in it who had only craved power from their first breath. If this one relative was powerful enough to make Nina’s very bones run toward her remains, Nina would be in a lot of trouble. As it were, Nina’s powers would be at their peak in a few hours and she was especially vulnerable to being used for evil purposes.

This year the voice was a little different. There was something familiar about. It was as if it had come from within her soul. It reminded her of her mother, to a great deal. Nina’s mother had vanished a few years after she was born and she had been raised by a distant aunt.

The calling was sweet this year. Soft. Still strong, but like a lullaby she had heard once upon a dream.

Against all logic, Nina decided to follow it. The spirit following Miguel was just a spirit; as long as he stayed put they would have nothing to worry about. And Miguel would be fine. She took one look in the courtyard and vanished from their compound. It looked like Miguel was being lectured about something. She hoped it wasn’t serious.

Nina needed to get to the call. This year it was familiar. Like someone was calling her home, after years of feeling out of place.

The call was coming from past the edge of town. Nina followed it, into the tree groves surrounding Santa Cecilia. There were hundreds of mango trees here. She continued to walk into the trees, feeling the trunks as she passed by them. The trees had long since been harvested and were now recovering husks of themselves. But their energy was still sweet, like the meat of the fruit they produced.

This felt right. Nina smiled as she continued down one particular row of mango trees until she came to an especially withered tree. It prickled the back of her mind that this tree was sicker than the rest. It was browning and the trunk itself looked sickly. The bark was dark and soft. That made her heart ache; no one deserved to be here, and the mango tree didn’t deserve this either.

Nina put a hand on the tree and immediately wished she hadn’t. As she set her palm against the bark of the sick tree a wave of energy released from it. The force of it threw her backwards. As she lay there in the dirt, a vision of a body being buried planted itself in her mind. This was where she was supposed to be tonight.

Mindlessly, she began digging at the base of the crumbling mango tree. The dank smell assaulted her nostrils but she did not stop digging. Finally she felt it; the shawl her aunt had been murdered and buried in. Nina dug through the rank earth until her fingers found the skull of her deceased great-aunt. A shiver ran up her spine.

Nina reached forward and placed a hand on the forehead of her ancestor. “I release you,” she murmured. She felt the spirit, a soft glowy thing, leave the earth through her fingers. She felt it gently lift above her. “That should stop the negative energy,” she reasoned, thinking back to the blast that had thrown her.

Nina sat back on her feet, exhausted. Why had she been so worried about this? It was just a trapped spirit. She should have helped long ago! After a few moments, Nina stood up and crossed herself. Despite being a witch, and a follower of the Aztec traditions, she wasn’t stupid. She knew where the real power lay on this holiday.

“Why didn’t I do that before?” She asked aloud. She felt good. Really good. Probably because she would be at the height of her powers in a little while, but also because she had done a good thing tonight.

Nina turned away to go back to town. There was no reason she shouldn't enjoy the rest of the holiday with her family. And the body deserved to be found after all this time. Deciding to leave it, she started her trek back to Santa Cecilia to listen to the mariachi play. She would come back in the morning to report what she had found, and then cleanse the area after the body was properly buried in the cemetery.

There was a stirring behind her, like something sifting through sand. Nina’s eyes widened in fear as she slowly turned around.

The spirit emerging from this body was evil. Darkness erupted from the skeleton below the earth. It formed a shapeless cloud that shifted with a green energy flickering throughout, like lightning. Deep purple eyes like lamps focused on her as it emerged and got bigger.

Nina raised her arms to defend herself. She knew she was not supposed to cast any spells against spirits on this holiday, no matter how dangerous. But this was different. She wasn't even sure if this--thing--could be considered a spirit. She closed her eyes for a fraction of a second to see if she could feel its aura, but there was nothing there. Just blackness.

The spirit floated toward her. “Stay back!” Nina cried, more scared-sounding than she liked. She knew most spirits were sacred but this one looked like it would shred through her very being. “I can help you,” she said uncertainly. “I can send you to the spirits, where you belong!” Her voice sounded stronger, but she was still frightened out of her wits.

A sickly sweet voice responded. “Oh, but darling, don’t you want to visit with your family?”

Nina’s mind flickered to the living and the spirits currently enjoying themselves at their family manor.

“No, not those.” A human arm emerged from the cloud and reached out toward her. “I was thinking more like an old friend of ours we need to pay a visit to.”

“Not a chance!” Nina barked in fear. “I’m sending you back.” She raised her arm and started chanting a spell for protection. As she spoke, a blue sheet of what looked like glass rose in front of her. Nina held it up midair like a shield strapped to her arm. Normally her power did not manifest in physical forms she could see; she maily used charms or herbs and checked auras. But tonight her power was strong enough to protect her from any spirit.

The dark energy used its thin arm to shatter the shield. As it reached toward her, part of a female torso peaked through the fog. Nina was thrown backward as the arm struck her stomach. Nina landed on her hands and knees, coughing.

“We don’t have the time for this,” cautioned the cloud as Nina tried to catch her breath again. It began to shrink in size and shape, brightening as it tried to form into what resembled a human being. The semi-human spirit reached a hand out to Nina, who lifted an arm weakly to try to stop it. The being gripped Nina’s shoulder and lifted her to her feet. “I will not hurt you as long as you follow my plan,” it said. Its eyes were solid spheres set in a skull now. Their piercing power made Nina feel faint.

Nina stared. She had never met a trapped spirit this...coherent before. The others had been lost and needed direction. Some didn’t even communicate in words because they knew no language. This one was smart, and big, and mean, and could physically and magically overpower her. And she had never seen a spirit with the ability to transform before. If it was smart enough to realize the nature of a spirit-form, maybe she could reason with it. She could figure out what it wanted.

“Are you...Great Aunt Lucia?” She asked uncertainly.

“I am,” answered the spirit with a much more human-sounding voice. “I was buried here decades ago by my sister.”

Nina felt like there was a catch here somewhere, but her brain was fogging over. She wondered if this being, her Tía Lucia, had a shroud of some kind. She was missing something. As she spoke with the cloud, it appeared to get lighter and smaller as she slowly took the shape of a human soul. Nina found herself wondering about the cloud the woman had been a moment before, but the thought erased from her mind.

The woman was totally solidified now. Well, as solid as a spirit could be. Nina was surprised that she was able to see this one. She had dark wavy hair, and wore a dark dress with a buttoned-up bodice and a flared skirt. Her cheekbones had deep purple flames on the sides and a simple fleur-de-lis on her chin.

“You are a witch too, right?” asked the spirit.

Nina nodded. “I am the heir of the family power.” She felt a strange humming in her head. “That was you, once upon a time. Heir to all we hold dear.” 

The spirit breathed out slowly. “I was the heir, yes. My sister murdered me for it, and then became corrupted with its power. You know this happens sometimes. When the power overcame her, she was killed and the next descendant received it. But the family power was never the same. Part of it was transferred on, but much of it remained with me. This is why I called out to all of you. I called out to your grandmother, and then your mother, and finally you.” She looked off into the distance, a sad expression clouding her features. “No one heard me or even bothered, until you came.”

Nina watched her Tía Lucia’s face change as she put together the story. Piece by piece until she saw a whole person again.

Lucia was sad as she looked off at the mango trees surrounding them. “If I had had a child, they would have been the rightful heir to the power.” She looked back to Nina. “But now you have your birthright.” Her facial expression was unreadable.

Nina felt a strange feeling in the pit of her stomach. She did not like this feeling. Something bad was going to happen, she knew it. “My mother vanished before she could transfer it to me.”

“You’re not fully realized yet,” Lucia said quietly, her face yielding nothing.

Nina shook her head; she was supposed to be given a family heirloom that would hold onto the strongest part of her powers as long as she lived. But when her mother had gone missing, the connection to the heirloom was lost. Nina had suspected it would be the locket her mother always wore, or any number of pieces of jewelry her family had passed down from generation to generation. But when her mother vanished, that connection severed.

Nina was stuck, with nothing left to connect her to her mother’s power.

“No,” she answered. “I have tried to obtain it, but it ended disastrously.” Her mind flickered to the day she had burned down her family’s study in Mexico City. She didn’t want a repeat of that terrible decision. “It doesn’t work without the heirloom.”

“I never passed on my heirloom,” Lucia said carefully. “I could theoretically pass it on to you tonight while we can communicate.”

Nina was starting to like this woman, despite the suspicious circumstances in which she had arisen. She couldn’t place why. All she knew was that she was starting to get a headache and she very much wanted to help out her great aunt. Maybe it would get rid of the strange feeling in her gut.

“Sure,” Nina said uncertainly. “What do I need to do?”

“Help me with a task I need completed, child,” Lucia responded sweetly. “It has been a while since I have seen my dear friend, and I have a feeling you could help me greatly.”

Nina’s head buzzed. “I can?” she asked distractedly.

“Sí. I need you so that I can help out my old friend. And then I can pass on the full power to you. What do you say to that?”

The buzzing grew louder in Nina’s ears. Could Lucia not hear it? She just wanted it to stop. Maybe if she agreed it would stop. Yes, that must be it. Her indecision was giving her a headache. That made sense, right?

“Yeah, okay,” Nina said. “But...nobody’s gonna get hurt right?”

Lucia started. “Of course not! Too many people have died for this already. And you deserve every part of your family’s powers as the last living heir.” She cocked an eyebrow at the word ‘living’. It made Nina feel squirmish.

“Okay,” she responded, feeling agreeable. It was like someone was pressing on her head and her chest. It wouldn’t lighten until she agreed, she knew it. “I’ll do it.”

Lucia’s smile turned sinister. “You’ve made the right choice, child,” she said through her teeth.

Instantly the feeling of spiritual oppression left Nina’s body, and she realized what a horrible mistake she had made. “Wait--” she began, but Lucia was already setting her plan in motion. She began chanting, lifting herself and Nina into the air. Nina felt her body rise but could do nothing about it. As Lucia chanted, she began to transform into the cloud again. Without warning, she lunged at Nina, and Nina was forced to absorb the spirit of her aunt.

All at once, Nina fell to the ground in a heap. Her body ached all over, and the thoughts in her mind clashed. She writhed as her thoughts and her Aunt’s personality clashed. She realized what her aunt had planned but could do nothing about it. Finally, she stopped writhing as her motivations solidified. When Nina stood up, she knew what to do.

Nina went to the unmarked grave and dug out the unassuming shawl around the half-buried skeleton. With this piece of fabric, she could finally absorb all the powers of her ancestors. She would become the most powerful witch in the world. She would complete the ritual tonight and by midnight would not have to rely on spell books and practice or even times of year to conduct any spell she wished. She would be unrestrained and could gain anything she wanted.

Green eyes flashing, Nina went to go follow the malicious spirit she had seen earlier that evening. She had a debt to settle with an old friend.

It didn’t take her long to catch up to Ernesto. She found him leaving the Rivera hacienda, lurking in the shadows until he moved. The disgraced mariachi huddled in a trenchcoat and walked to the cemetery and the bridge. Her human flesh resisted as she took the first step on the bridge; her feet were heavy and sank through the petals. With a forceful push from the new combined powers within herself, Nina forced her body to become somewhere between dead and alive.

Being alive was not important enough to stop her from righting a wrong and settling her debt.

Nina followed closely behind Ernesto, making sure to keep her face concealed. She had a plan she had been working on for almost seventy years and she did not intend to let the chance escape her tonight because she was caught by some imbecilic soul.

Nina arrived at the line of skeletons checking people in. She used a simple glamour to make her features appear briefly skeletal as she entered the Tierra de los Muertos. Her glamour collapsed on command after evading the border guards. She needed to act fast. She followed Ernesto into the shadows, where he probably would remain until the next Día de los Muertos. But Nina had other plans for him tonight.

Her hand landed on Ernesto’s shoulder. He had not seen a living soul in probably near a decade. As she predicted he would, Ernesto started, but Nina slammed him against an alley wall. “Ernesto, I have a bone to pick with you,” she sneered in his face.

He immediately backtracked. “You’re alive! How are you here?”

She shrugged. “I have my ways. I need your help, Neto. About the Rivera boy.”

He tried unsuccessfully to unwedge himself from her grip. “I detest the brat and his familia. Why would I help you?”

“Because,” she said, putting her hand on her chest. “I want him dead.”

He scoffed. “I’m just supposed to believe that after snogging the boy all night you suddenly want to kill him? Not a chance.”

Her eyes flashed green. “Neto. It’s me,” she leered, baring her teeth.

Instantly his facial expression fell. She released him, knowing he wouldn’t try to escape.

“How long has it been?” she asked him, smirking.

He laughed nervously. “Eighty years or so? Ay dios mio. Your sister killed you so long ago. Did she ever get the power she wanted?”

Nina laughed. “HA. No. She didn’t conduct the spell right and ended up burning down her pathetic home. I could hear the explosion from under the mango tree,” her voice got soft, “Why did you stop communicating with me? I reached out to you several times through the years,” she told him, putting a hand on his face and tapping his cheek harshly. “I missed my little Neto.”

“Technically I am older than you, right?”

She shrugged. “Currently I am about twenty-three. My dumb neice was stupid enough to dig up my grave and find the shawl.” She held up the piece of filthy, frayed fabric. Soil fell from it onto the cobblestones beneath their feet. “That was the final piece my sister was missing to summon the full family power. But that idiot buried me with it around my shoulders. That’s the only reason I was able to communicate with you for so long here.” She paused for a brief moment. “I’m sorry about what the Miguel boy did to you. You were a sensation.”

“It’s all right, I have been trying to come to terms with it.” He seemed pained, however, thinking about almost a century of fame being squashed the morning of his last Amenecer Espectacular.

She stepped toward him. “What if I gave you the option for a chance at revenge you might never get again?” Her voice was low and teasing.

Ernesto’s eyes brightened. “What did you have in mind?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I always felt that Ernesto had a lot of people backing him as a celebrity. As a spirit with a vengeance, and a magical posse, I feel like he would be unstoppable.
> 
> Coco does not belong to me, as per ushe.


	7. Perdido y encontrado

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lost and found

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wanted Miguel to appear here from the second I came up with this story. Appearing in the Land of the Living very near his little sister would have cut off the story too soon. I had to make Miguel as stubborn as his Mamá Imelda and able to do anything for his familia, just like Papá Héctor. And I had to make it difficult for everybody XD

Miguel felt the warm wind envelope him. He felt the soft marigold petals flutter around him in an almost frantic flurry--or maybe he himself was just frantic, remembering what had happened before he passed out. He had been about to explain his plan when he felt a rush in his blood and then he fainted. Miguel tried to push down the embarrassment of fainting; but more than anything he had wanted to explain himself and console his mother.

But the petals had other plans.

The golden cempazuchitl raced around him in a spiral, until suddenly the whipping wind disappeared and they fluttered away from his body. He breathed through his excitement and nerves--after all he was going to see his relatives for the first time in almost a decade!--and opened his eyes.

At first he was alarmed to see a big expanse of nothing. The night's sky sprawled before him in a terrifying vacuum of endless space. Had he done something wrong? Ay dios mio, what if I got myself killed? He wondered in a panic. But then he looked down and saw the sprawling city of the Tierra de los Muertos. City lights danced and twinkled in the high towers while different parties and music rumbled very quietly over the expanse. He stood atop a tower, a light yet cool breeze whipping his white charro suit and hair. He realized with a start that his guitar had fallen off his back. But he guessed that it was probably safer at home considering where he was standing.

Miguel started to wonder why on God's green earth he had ended up in such a strange location when it dawned on him that this was the last place he had set foot in the Tierra de los Muertos. He was standing on the balcony backstage of the concert hall.

Yes, even now he could picture it. There was where Tía Victoria, Tía Rosita,and his Tíos Óscar and Felipe had stood along with Mamá Imelda. And over here he had watched as Héctor's body spasmed with gold light and pain.

What if he hadn't made it in time?

The fear hadn't hit him in a long time; over the years he had slowly assured himself that Dante would have told him if something was amiss with his dead family members in some way. Now that he was at the scene where Papá Héctor had nearly faded before him and--Miguel looked to the edge of the building, suddenly overcome with fear. Where Ernesto de la Cruz had tossed him over the side of the stage to hurdle dozens of stories to his near death.

Miguel shook himself back to reality. That had been a long time ago. He still had to find Socorro. And he had no idea on how to get to her or the other Riveras. They could literally have been anywhere at this point in the night, especially since he had fixed the ofrenda. Having only been with them during one Día de los Muertos celebration, and one on which he had sent them way off their normal party schedule, he didn't know when they migrated toward the hacienda and when they returned home. He didn't even know if Socorro was even in the Tierra de los Muertos for Pete's sake.

Miguel ran his hands through his hair and looked around. He almost expected to see his red hoodie lying amongst some of the stage crew items but rationally knew that it had to have been long gone. He started to pace for a moment, trying to come up with a plan.

A skeletal woman carrying a large box wandered backstage then. She was whistling some old bastardized Ernesto-version of one of Papá Héctor's songs as she passed by Miguel. He wanted to know how she was able to whistle without lips but he focused back in when she got near him.

“Disculpeme Senora, but I think I need a little help,” Miguel started. She set the box on top of a table and then looked up at him.

Then her literal jaw hit the literal floor.

On instinct Miguel leaned to pick it up and offer it back to her but she merely shrieked the moment her trembling hand clamped it back onto her face. And the way that it sat crookedly in her mouth until she readjusted, Miguel was going to have nightmares about for years.

He spun on his white boot heel and immediately assumed "get the hell outta here" pace. He did not want any unwarranted attention, and this shrieking person would be the source of a crowd if he didn’t get out of there. He shuffled behind the curtain to get away from the terrified woman and was met with a blinding spotlight right in his face.

A mostly empty stadium greeted him but a few stray skeletons gasped as his image--his skull covered in skin and fat and flesh--was displayed on the jumbo screen behind him at one hundred times its size for the whole stage crew and performers and early patrons to see.

Miguel smiled awkwardly at the crowd. "Perdóname." He mumbled into the mic and tried to make his way backstage.

That was where the trouble began. Well, where it continued. He was already in a heap of trouble. Images of his family members--both deceased and living--bopping him with chanclas flashed in her mind. They would murder him when they met up with him. But he still had to make sure Socorro was all right.

The second he was backstage, someone grabbed his shoulder and yanked him hard. He whirled to face another skeleton, this one a terrifying, angry woman with sharp red lines on her skull. "You're Rivera's boy aren't you?" she demanded. Her bones were fresh and white, markings on her skull stark. She was mildly terrifying. Miguel felt bad energy from her almost immediately.

He nodded but was not quite sure that was the correct response to this woman.

She smiled briefly, but it was wan. Without warning, she brought her hand back and smacked him hard across the face.

Miguel yelped. "What was that for, Señora?" He demanded. He was actually mildly impressed by the fact that he maintained his composure enough to call her a respectable title. Another skeleton, a man wearing a headset and a name badge and a clipboard , helped him stand.

The frightening skeletal woman placed her hands on her visible hip bones. "Tell that fool Héctor Rivera he should have just stayed quiet." She rolled her eyes. "And as for you, muchacho, you should have left things as they were. Now get out of here."

She sneered at the man with the clipboard. "What, are you his entourage? Scram!"

“I work here.” The director snapped at her. He turned to Miguel. “Do you need help?”

Miguel took one look at the sneering skeleton woman and decided he did not have time to take chances today. “I do,” he admitted, though he wasn’t sure how much help this man could be. The older man led him through a set of doors to the stairwell. There was a long set of stairs to descend, but he managed. At the bottom floor though, Miguel had to pause to catch his breath.

The older man eyed him strangely. "I had forgotten what it meant to be winded." He was standing erect, arms crossed over his torso. He appeared to be fine, as if he had not just practically skipped down twelve flights of stairs.

Miguel smiled at him. "My name is Miguel. I have been here before, but it's been a long time." He sighed, still out of breath, and outstretched his hand. "What is your name, Señor?"

"Victorio. Mis amigos call me Pinche."

Miguel smiled at the man. "Encantado de conocerte señor. What was the deal with that woman?” he asked.

The director scoffed. “She’s an artist. An Ernesto supporter. She was on Porfirio Diaz’s side of the Revolution. She hates males. You name it.” He looked Miguel up and down. “How does someone like you end up here, anyway?”

Miguel exhaled. “I got myself cursed. I actually need to get back to my family to undo it. Do you know this area well, Señor Pinche?"

The man nodded. "Though I am suspecting you need to get to the Departamento, verdad?"

"I do." It had been a long time since he had been here, but he knew exactly what needed to be done. Figure out if his sister was here, get her blessed, get himself blessed, and then go home. Easy, right?

"Perfecto. Follow me," Pinche smiled.

It took about twenty minutes to reach Family Reunions. Once they got on the trolley, Miguel kept Pinche’s hat over his head to conceal himself. He didn't have any shoe polish handy to paint his face this time, but the hat was enough. Finally they reached the Department of Family Reunions. Miguel thanked the man profusely for taking the time out of his day to help out Miguel. “Oh, nonsense. I’m sure Amalia has taken over by now anyway. She usually does.” Pinche chuckled and then shook Miguel’s hand warmly. “Buena suerte, muchacho.” Miguel returned the hat and watched Pinche turn on his heel and head back to the stadium.

Miguel braced himself before entering through the large doors through the back entrance of the building. He had some explaining to do; he hoped that his family was here, like the last time they had not been able to cross the bridge. Well, when Mamá Imelda had been unable to.

Skeletons stared at Miguel as he entered the building, their mouths and eyes wide. Just like the last time. Miguel was not surprised in the least when he entered the Department and saw hundreds of skeletons. In fact, it reminded him of the Departamento de Vehículos, where he had to get his license renewed last year. It was packed to the brim with bored and frustrated customers and workers.

What surprised him though was the fact that he recognized seven skeletons right off the bat. They were seated off to the side in a waiting area with folding chairs and numbered windows. One, clad in a purple dress, paced in front of the rest of the family, ranting on and waving her arms emphatically. Miguel smiled as he recognized his Mamá Imelda. 

Heart pounding, Miguel glanced around the large waiting area but could not see his great great grandfather anywhere. Miguel walked toward them and cleared his throat once he was close to them. He was immediately embraced in a bone-crushing hug.

"MIGUELITO!!!!" His Tía Rosita glomped on to him and kissed his cheek several times.

He smiled and wrapped his arms around her. She gave the best hugs. He had almost forgotten the love she was able to pass on with just an embrace.

"Miguel?" several of the Riveras chorused.

Oh no, now I'm in for it. He sighed and released his great-great aunt, but kept a hand on her shoulder.

"Hola, mi familia," he choked out, a scared grin on his face. All the confidence in his plan was gone. He was definitely in trouble.

"Why is it, that whenever there is trouble on this holiday, I find you there?" Imelda began to storm toward him, her signature scowl firmly in place. Miguel vaguely noticed her limping as she stepped toward him, but that thought vanished when one of her boots left her foot and she poised it, ready to bop him.

"Mala suerte?" He suggested with a sheepish grin.

Imelda swatted him upside the head with the chancla. "Try again. What in the world are you doing here?" she demanded. “You were almost killed last time!”

Miguel held the side of his head as the other dead Riveras surrounded him. His heart broke with joy the moment he laid eyes on his Mamá Coco, but he snapped out of it quickly to try to explain himself before being hit with any more Rivera botas. "There is a perfectly good explanation for this,” he began uncertainly.

"Please, then, explain what is going on," Mamá Imelda said through her teeth. He knew she was on the brink of bopping him again.

But Miguel looked around, overcome with curiosity. "Did Papá Héctor...is he...?"

Imelda lowered her shoe as her expression softened. "He's fine mijo. He went to check on the ofrenda. For some reason none of our photos were up this year and only he could cross over. The scanner only showed an image of Héctor from some news article.”

“I did an interview after I published my first album,” Miguel explained. “I told them about Ernesto’s songs and how he murdered Papá Héctor.”

Papá Julio stepped forward. “How did you prove they were his?” he asked sheepishly.

“They compared the handwriting and dated Papá Héctor’s letters and the songbook. They found it in Ernesto’s mansion in Mexico City. It was converted into a museum in the fifties.” 

“You’ve done your research, mijo,” Imelda smiled. “But that still doesn’t explain what happened to the ofrenda or why you are here.”

“Socorro went missing after deliberately trashing the ofrenda,” he supplied. “I figured that none of you had made it here, so I decided to come. Only, when I arrived,” Miguel waved his hands from one side to the other for a visual of crossing the veil, “I showed up on top of the stadium. I never anticipated that would happen. But I had to help.”

“By getting yourself cursed,” she supplied with an annoyed sigh. “Miguel, I know you are worried about your hermanita, but even if she is cursed we can handle it. We helped you last time, after all. Besides, what if the curse had continued where it left off?”

His eyes were pained as he met hers. “I didn’t think about that,” he admitted, looking down. “But I had to find out what happened to Socorro. I figured that after wrecking the ofrenda, she--”

“She wrecked the ofrenda?!” cried Victoria. “Elena’s going to explode! That is literally the only thing she cared about more than the music ban!” She gripped her hair, distraught.

“I fixed it!” Miguel cried, trying to console his aunt. “I knew you guys would be stuck here, so I fixed it. Well...most of it. Coquis destroyed everything on it. I figured, after what got me cursed, there was no way she got away scott-free. I had to guide her.”

“That’s what Dante and Pepita are for,” Mamá Coco lectured seriously. Miguel had not been lectured seriously by her in his whole life; he didn’t know how to take it. “Miguel, you know we love you, but this was a very serious risk. One that could have had serious consequences.”

“Exactly,” he said, nodding determinedly. “I needed to make sure Coquis was okay. We have to get back to the hacienda. I fixed the ofrenda, so hopefully she is just hiding out there. We can find her and bring her home.”

Everyone stared at him blankly.

“She could be all by herself," Miguel urged.

They continued staring at him. Victoria crossed her arms and chuckled.

"What if she doesn't think to come here?" Miguel continued. He felt a little silly being the only alarmed one. "Why aren't you guys freaking out?" he demanded finally.

“Because," Tío Óscar snickered while Tío Felipe put a hand on his brother’s shoulder and laughed. Miguel noticed the rest of the Riveras were smiling and chortling as well. Imelda full-on snorted. He felt duped. What was he missing?

Then something bopped him on the back of the head. Miguel whirled around and found his great-great grandfather, holding the pair of Rivera botas Mama Elena had put on Imelda’s tombstone that morning. Holding his other hand and looking scared was little Coquis.

Miguel’s face split into the biggest smile as he hugged his Papá Héctor. He held Hector so tightly that his back popped. "Thank God," Miguel breathed, holding his tatarabuelo tightly. The Riveras ignored the startled looks and stares from the patrons of the reunions department in favor of watching the tender moment.

Miguel pulled back finally and wiped his eyes. "You're okay!" he beamed. He went down on his knees to hug Socorro. After a moment he pulled back.

"Coquis?" He asked, holding her hands in his. “Why did you wreck the ofrenda?”

“I thought you cared about the guitar more than me,” she whimpered. “You take it everywhere with you, and you never take me anywhere. I thought that if it was gone you might like me again.”

Miguel felt guilt eat at him. “Never ever have I thought that guitar was more important than you. Ever.”

Her voice was small as she spoke next. “But you were so sad when you found it.”

He nodded. “I was. But it’s just a thing. No amount of things can replace you, Socorro. You are my whole world. I was so scared when I thought you might have ended up here.”

She hugged him, throwing her arms around his neck. “I’m sorry,” she whispered. She sniffled a little.

He held her tightly. “I missed you so much, Coquis.”

Imelda put a gentle hand on Miguel’s shoulder. “We need to get you two home,” she urged. “You have your whole lives to quarrel and make up. You two are still in danger as long as you are here.”

Miguel nodded, pulling away from his little sister. “I need your blessing, Mamá Imelda,” he sheepishly added, emphasizing the word ‘your’.

She crossed her arms. “Why mine in particular?” she asked with a raised eyebrow and a cocked hip.

Miguel winced as he answered. “I kinda poured paint on your tombstone.”

Everyone but Socorro and Hector winced or gasped. “I was kind of in a rush, and she already did the--” he stopped himself. “I couldn’t think of anything else,” he amended. 

Imelda rolled her eyes. “All right. But I am adding conditions this time, mijo. The next time I see you you had better be old and grey and skeletal yourself. Otherwise I will hit you so hard with my botas you won’t remember your own name. Got it?”

Miguel gulped. 

“And as for you, mijita,” Imelda said, turning to Socorro. “You and your brother are not safe. This is not a game, being here. Anything could happen to you in the Tierra de los Muertos. There are all sorts of dangers, even for us skeletons. Do you realize the kinds of people who lurk here? There are terrible, horrible souls here who will stop at nothing to hurt you.”

“Imelda. You don’t need to scare her,” Hector stepped forward.

“I’m not trying to scare her,” she snapped. “I’m being honest. There are horrible people here.”

“I get that there are Ernesto followers here, mi amor,” Héctor said, looking around at their audience. “But no one has tried to harm us in years. What is the matter?”

Miguel felt strange, then. He felt a hollow feeling in his head, as if he were being cursed again. He tried to focus on his ancestors but a small pain began to wriggle itself in his brain. Like someone had put a stick inside of his head poking around.

“I saw Ernesto today,” she said. “He was near the old De la Cruz tower.”

Hector reeled. “And you didn’t tell us?” he asked sharply. “Mi amor, this is something you should share with your family. You don’t have to bear all the burden anymore. We can turn him in to the police if we let them know we saw him.”

Socorro started to rub her eye. “He should go to the police,” she said quietly. She was starting to get tired. “He’s a bad man.”

Another wave of pain hit Miguel’s skull. He held his head. It was as if something was trying to escape from his brain. The pain pressed on the soft tissue inside his skull, his eyes, his sinuses. What a hell of a time for a migraine.

“He is a bad man,” Imelda said. “But when I saw him, I had an overwhelming feeling.”

“A feeling. Amor, I am never one to doubt your intuition, but a feeling should not be the thing that stops you from reporting a murderer to the police. He could hurt any of us, especially the children,” he said, gesturing at Miguel and Socorro, who still needed to be blessed home.

Miguel was gently kneading at his temples, trying to alleviate the pressure in his skull. Vaguely he realized that the effects of the curse were well under way; he could see the bones in his hands all the way up to his wrists. “Guys,” he said, trying to get their attention. But they continued to argue. Miguel’s head was exploding in pain now. It was now like someone had set a fire inside of his brain.

“I can’t explain it, but there was something that held me back from doing that. It was like I couldn’t speak--”

Miguel felt woozy again. Like he was going to faint. But just as he was about to swoon, a green and purple blur dashed past him. Almost the instant it did, the pain in his head vanished.

“Dante?” he asked, as the dog shot through the building and out the door. He was holding something in his mouth. He had a weird feeling about the pain in his head vanishing, and about Dante bolting through the room without even a second glance at the family, and about whatever he was holding in his mouth.

A second figure dashed after him, calling out to Dante. “Hey! Give it back!” she cried.

“Nina?” asked Socorro. She immediately tore after the girl.

“Wait!” Hector cried, tearing after little Coquis.

Miguel made a move to chase after them, but Imelda grabbed his wrist. “Ah ah ah!” she cried. “We’re not spending another Dia de los Muertos chasing you through the realm of the dead.”

Miguel huffed. “But Nina hasn’t been here before! I haven’t even told her about this place! She might not know what to do,” he urged.

“We will take care of it, Miguel,” Mamá Coco said, gently taking his arm. “You need to go home now, please. Mamá y Papá told me about what happened last time you were here. I don’t want you to risk your life again.”

“I think Dante is here to help Nina,” Rosita added thoughtfully. “Normally he hangs around the house waiting for scraps from my cooking, but I have not seen him in few weeks. Maybe Nina has been adopted by him?”

“I have seen Pepita take care of extended members of the family,” Imelda added, a hand still around Miguel’s wrist. She finally let go, and he rubbed his still-bruised wrist. She was looking at the doors Dante, Nina, Socorro and Héctor had dashed through. “Maybe he is on loan-out this year.” She turned back to Miguel.

Miguel didn’t like the look she was giving him. “Mamá Imelda,” he said, “I only want to make sure that Socorro will get back safely.”

She smiled at him mischievously. “And she will. Without your help,” she added, pulling a petal out of her apron.

“When did you get that?” he asked, staring at it.

She shrugged. “It’s Día de los Muertos. When we found out we could not cross, I picked one off of the bridge. I had a feeling. You know how that goes.”

Miguel looked at the door. His family probably had it under control, right? They would take care of the two girls and bring them home, right? They would be safe? Doubt began to fill his heart; his family was fully capable of rescuing Socorro. But what about Nina? Would she get out of here in time? He didn’t know where her family was during this time.

“I, uh, need a second,” he said. “To stretch my legs,” he said, backing away.

Imelda shook her head. “That’s not going to work this time, Miguel. I give you my blessing,” and she lunged at him.

Miguel vanished in a whiff of petals.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't own Coco. What a beautiful story. Honestly, if there was a sequel to this movie, I would be scared they would ruin the story, but at the same time I crave it like nothing else.
> 
> I hate when people forget accents on people's names, but I do it all the time. RIP.


	8. Ver es Creer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What is Dante up to? (I love xolos. When I gwt my own house I am going to get one. They're such magestic puppers)
> 
> Also I hope Miguel doesn't get into any more shenanegans ohh nooo

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Me: I hate doing OCs  
> Also me: let's add some OCs  
> All the time. Anyway. I really like the idea of Dante chapters to describe the hourney through the Land of the Dead, but this is my weakest part of the chapter. Writing from pet POV is a challenge for me.

Dante felt the Feeling again. He had been so excited to see His Boy again ever since his body had died, he was only able to see Miguel once a year, when the Big Cat told him he could. And this year, Dante was very excited to get all the pets and treats. His Boy's mamá always spoiled him so much when he visited. He liked her the best, even though Miguel gave the best pats.

The Feeling was strong this time. But it was different. It was...darker. It was a Bad Feeling. But as an alebrije, Dante could not ignore his instincts. He followed the Bad Feeling. He knew from experience that following his Bad Feelings kept His Boy safe. 

The Feeling felt familiar. Dante was almost over the big bridge when he realized His Boy wasn't where he was supposed to be. His Boy was behind him, somewhere in the Tierra de los Muertos. He could feel it.

Dante stopped, and a skeleton lady ran into him. She patted him gently and said something, but he did not listen to her. He looked back into the realm he had just come from, overcome with the Feeling.

But his Feeling wasn't drawing him to Miguel. It was drawing him to someone else. The New Girl. Dante had never felt her before a few years ago, and then she was always by the Riveras. He liked her. She was kind. She was sweet. She gave him pats, too. But she was different. Her Feeling was different this year. It was tainted by evil, and he needed to find out what was happening.

Dante began to run back the way he came, flinging cempatsuchitl petals as he ran. He flew past the gates and around skeletons, ignoring them as they called out to him. He needed to find the New Girl and stop whatever she was doing.

It didn't take him long to find her. When he turned into an alebrije, his sense of smell got really really good. He could smell everything good. He could smell Good Feelings and Bad Feelings, and where His Boy and his family were, even when he wasn't with them.

Dante could Feel it when he finally saw the New Girl. She was talking with another skeleton, someone Dante hadn't smelled in a long time. But the second he saw, Dante knew. This was the Mariachi! He was with the New Girl, and they were doing something bad!

Dante had to stop them. But what could he do? He was just a dog. An alebrije, but he was a good alebrije. And he would prove to the Big Cat that he could do his duties. She had told him to protect the family at all costs.

Dante watched them as they talked, and he got a Bad Feeling. It came from the piece of fabric the New Girl had in her hands. It was important somehow, but he didn't know how. Without thinking, Dante lunged for the Mariachi amd the New Girl.  
\------------------------

Luisa circled past the graveyard once more. She had given up on searching for the children once she had learend that Miguel had gone after Socorro. She trusted him to bring her home. But that did not stop her from nervously checking the ofrenda room and the cemeterio every twenty minutes. She had ledt a somewhat defeated voicemail with Enrique about her frustrating children disappearing. She couldn't help the bubble apof anger within her as she described Miguel leaving again without consulting one single family member. He had promised them no more secrets after his first trip through the Tierra de los Muertos nine years ago.

Luisa distractedly passed by the Garcia-Bernal family and greeted them as she walked around their decadent gravesites. She was good friends with some of them, and had even exchanged good sturdy Rivera shoes for music and guitar lessons for Miguel. Nina's cousin Renata waved distractedly to Luisa as she passed by their decadent sites. The Garcia-Bernal graves weren't the most decorated sites, but they were by far the most expensive. Almost every grave was adorned with lace and pearls.

Luisa sighed. She knew (at least from what Miguel had told her) that her husband's family did not need the fancy items most people placed on their graves around this time. But she knew the importance of their remembrance. Her papá had maintained gravesites for a living. And when she got old enough, she helped him out. She was used to tending flowers, pulling weeds, mending and making tombstones. She had done many gravestones for the town of Santa Cecilia, until the day she began working in the shoeshop with Enrique and his family.

She had been reluctant at first to give up music for her husband, but she knew in her heart that it had been worth it to be his esposa and the mother of his children. He was her family, and so were the other Riveras. There was not a thing she would not do for any single Rivera. And she knew without a doubt in her mind that Enrique felt the same about her side of the familia, the Espinozas.

Luisa looked across the cemetary as people tended and visited their ancestors' sites. She could almost feel the ghostly presense around her. Deep inside she had never had a single doubt that they were out there. And after Miguel had confided in her about his adventure, she had known for sure.

And just a few hours ago...she had spoken to her husband's papá Héctor. She didn't know where Socorro and Héctor had ended up. Only that her family had been extra protective of her, assuming that she had collapsed. Maybe from the stress of losing Socorro again.

She was stressed, for sure, she thought as she opened the iron gate to their site. She knew the risks of her children going to the Tierra de los Muertos again. But she felt confident knowing that her family would look after her son and daughter. So when she found Rosa furiously scrubbing Mamá Imelda's headstone with a sponge and soapy water, she almost laughed.

"Idiota," her sobrina muttered angrily. Her eyebrows furrowed over her glasses as she scrubbed. The suds had changed purple with her efforts, but as far as she could tell, the paint was just smearing over her ancestor's headstone. Her hands had been blue earlier in the evening because she had dyed the papel picado the day before, but now they were tainted purple.

"Why did he do this?" Abel asked. He handed his sister a fresh sponge and she angrily yanked it out of his hand and slapped the paint-soaked one into his outstretched palm. He seemed unperturbed as he placed it into the bucket beside him and rung it out.

Hola, niños," Luisa said as she stopped beside Abel. He leaned on the back of Papá Héctor's gravestone, which had been installed about seven years ago.

"Hola Tía Luisa," Abel sighed. Abel and Rosa were both very doubtful of Miguel's stories, even after Luisa's encounter that evening. They eyed her warily, as if she were on the brink of a psychotic break. But she knew what she saw. She knew what to expect.

Well, mostly. It had been several hours since Miguel had gone. She was starting to grow nervous again. How big was the Tierra de los Muertos? How long did it take to locate his sister and give her a blessing?

"Hola," Rosa said with a sigh. She sat back on her ankles. She put her now purple hands on her knees. The paint and water seeped into her jeans, staining them the deep royal color.

"You're getting paint on yourself, niña." Luisa pointed out to her.

Rosa smiled rhyley at her. "Not like anyone's here to see us this year." Rosa had grown incredibly skeptical over the years, but she still 'believed' for the sake of the family. Luisa could tell she was having a particularly hard time holding up the façade. And the fact that Miguel was 'hogging all the attention' this year was angering her more. She had always felt like she was just one step behind her cousin in everything. She always competed with him in fútbol, música, and even escuela. It was no secret she begrudged her primo for all the attention he was getting since his album released this year.

Luisa wasn't entirely sure what Rosa believed now. She brushed off the rude comment with a sigh and approached the young woman. "You're still with your lving family, niña." She looked up to the sky, where a sky full of stars glowed overhead. She wondered briefly if the stars shined this brightly in the Tierra de los Muertos.

Rosa looked down at her hands. "I'm sorry," she said roughly. "I'm just stressed. No one is looking for Socorro, and now Miguel is gone again, and no one seems to care that they are gone. It's frustrating." She looked pleadingly at her aunt. "Aren't you just the least bit worried? Like what if they're making it up?" Her voice rose an octave almost.

Luisa furrowed her brows and opened her mouth to answer when a flurry of petals and light appeared just behind Rosa. From the flurry emerged the form of a human, who backed immediately into Rosa and tripped over her shoe. The figure landed on his rump between Luisa and Rosa.

"Miguel?" cried Rosa. "Where the hell have you been?" she demanded, rising to her feet.

Miguel, realizing where he was, immediately scrambled off of Papá Héctor's grave and crossed himself. He stood on the other side of it and then looked at each of his family members in turn, panting.

"Abel...Rosa...Mamá...what's going on?" He asked, breathless. He looked frazzled. His tie was loose and his hair was messy. 

Luisa immediately went to her boy and hugged him tightly. "Oh, mijo, we were so worried. I saw you vanish, and then your Papá Héctor told me what happened, and then--"

"Wait wait wait wait," Miguel said, waving his arms in front of him as if he could erase their conversation to write over it. "You saw him? You saw Papá Héctor?" His eyes were bright with excitement. "¿Cómo?"

She shrugged in response. She looked over at her sobrinos, who both stared openmouthed at their cousin.

"How did you?"

"You were just?"

Miguel chuckled at their faces nervously. Then he turned back to his mamá. His expression became serious again. "We lost Socorro. Mamá Imelda was just about to send us home, and then Nina comes barrelling out of nowhere chasing after Dante through the Department, and before I even had a second to process what was happening, Mamá Imelda sent me home."

Luisa stared at her son. "Nina was there? With Dante?"

Miguel shrugged. "I guess so. I don't really get it either. I always kinda thought that Dante was mine and Héctor's, but apparently alebrijes occasionally help out other people?" He waved his hand to dismiss it. "But the point is, we lost Socorro. Papá Héctor chased after Socorro, and when I tried to go, Mamá Imelda stopped me."

"And with good reason, mijo," Luisa said sternly, crossing her arms and cocking an eyebrow. "Socorro has serious consequences to deal with after the ofrenda and the guitar. Your abuelita is very distraught over it."

Miguel nodded and gulped. "Lo siento, mamá. I know it's terrible." His expression hardened at the mention of the guitarra, but there was nothing he could do about it now. "That was where I got the idea to try to find her. I figured that she must have ended up here after destroying the ofrenda." He looked at the smeared tombstone. "That was where I got the idea to paint the tombstone."

"And it's clearly not coming out, Miguel," Rosa snapped. 

He dusted himself off of petals. "I had to think of something, fast." He looked at Abel, who was still gaping. Sometimes his oldest cousin needed longer to process things, despite being a math whiz.

"You couldn't think of anything else?" Rosa demanded.

He rolled his eyes. "Like I said, It wasn't like I had a ton of time to consider my options. The ofrenda was already trashed and it took me a long time to clean up. Anything could have happened to Coquis in that time. I did the first thing I could think of on the spot."

She crossed her arms and shifted her weight to one hip. She reminded him impeccably of Mamá Imelda at the moment. "You should have thought harder. And now you've got Nina wrangled in all this mess. You should have told one of us what was going on." She eyed the pile of petals critically. 

"Would you have even believed me?" He smirked, crossing his own arms and leaning his weight on his opposite hip.

Luisa would have laughed at the way they mirrored each other so well under different circumstances. As it was, she didn't think they should be quarreling, but she knew they were old enough to fix things for themselves if it got serious.

Rosa stared at him open mouthed. Everyone in that site knew that no, she would not have believed him.

"Anyway, I don't like the idea of Nina being there on her own. I know they said they can handle it, but--"

Rosa grabbed his arm. "Oh no you don't. You're not going anywhere, Miguel. You've worried everyone enough. No more eunning off into the night."

Miguel yanked his arm free of her grasp. "What is with everyone grabbing me today?" he snapped, glancing between Rosa and his mother. "I need to do this. It's my fault she left in the first place."

"Oh, isn't that so sad? Finally something you did wrong is catching up to you." Rosa's face was flushed with anger, her eyes threatening to spill over with frustrated tears. She looked exasperatedly up to the sky for a long moment before looking back at Miguel.

"Rosa?" Miguel asked tentatively, all sass gone. Luisa knew that Rosa had been particularly emotional this week because of the breakup. She was in a vulnerable place and the holiday being thrown into a tizzy was probably stressing her out.

Rosa glared at Miguel, finally meeting his eyes with tear-filled ones. "You can do no wrong. This family thinks that just because you brought music back to us that you are perfect. You get away with murder and I get yelled at if I spill a drop of milk. Do you have any idea how many times I covered for you when we were little and you would sneak off to the plaza? Or when you came home super late and I would distract Abuelita until you were in bed again? Do you know how many hours I have spent coming up with excuses for your friends for why they don't hear from you since you got famous?"

Miguel stared open-mouthed at her. "I didn't--" he started.

"No. You didn't. You didn't consider anyone else but yourself. And here your mamá is, worried sick about you chasing after Socorro and playing make-believe, dragging the whole family into your nonsense and convincing Nina to play along too." She waved behind them, in the general direction of the Rivera house. "You know some of them believe this crap with their whole hearts? They would stake their lives on that little trip you supposedly took when we were kids?"

Miguel took a step forward, anger returning. "I'm not pretending, Rosa. Where the heck do you think I just magically appeared from? Why do you think no one was able to find me or Coco all this time?"

"I don't know. But I don't believe in this bullshit." She glowered at him, hands on hips, looking dangerously like Imelda, or Elena, or even his mamá when they were righteously angry.

Miguel waved his hand dismissively. "I need to go, Rosa."

"You're such a flake!" she spat at him. "You disappear whenever stuff gets hard. You're such a coward!"

"At least I'm not frigid!" Miguel retorted.

Abel and Luisa gasped softly. Rosa gaped at him. Everyone in the family knew Rosa was somewhat bossy and very particular about things, especially when it came to the family business. But Miguel was one of the few people who knew that the reason Rosa's last boyfriend had broken it off with her was because she didn't want to spend a night with him in her tent on a camping trip. When she told him no, called her frigid and left her.

"Miguel," Luisa began to lecture. They had taken it too far. But Miguel was already moving. Before anyone could say or do anything, he had the paint can back in his hand and was slinging purple paint onto Tía Rosita's headstone.

"You son of a--" was all Miguel heard before he erupted in a cloud of petals. Luisa, Abel, and Rosa stared at the petals in shock.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really like to stick to canon for most fics. Too much canon divergence scares me cuz I like consistency. I bring this up because I found out that in one of the Coco accompanying junior novels has Miguel canonically sending letters back and forth through Dante to the deceased Riveras. So he would not have been concerned about Héctor til his death like I thought! I still like the idea that he wonders though. Cuz SUFFERING. But just you wait I have lots of angst planned.


	9. Acerca de la Muerte

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Well, officer, one Rivera ran that way, and the other Rivera ran the other way. Also, there was like this witch-lady?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is an addition, meaning I had no version of it in my arsenal of works. I added it to make things flow a little nicer, but at the same time I will have to change every chapter henceforth to make them match the story. Worth it, though :)

Socorro burst through the doors after Nina and Dante. They weren't immediately visible because they were a little ways ahead of her. She looked all round her at the crouds, searching for Nina's familiar features. All she saw was skeleton after skeleton, all brightly dressed and ready for a celebration. But she wasn't here for celebration. This was serious; she felt it. Finally, Socorro spotted the back of Nina's head as her wavy hair bounced around a building corner. Moments later she heard Papá Héctor burst through the door after her.

"Niña! Stop!" he cried. "This is dangerous!"

"Then come on!" she shouted, tearing after where she had seen Nina disappear. She didn't have time to wait for Papá Héctor to hobble after her. Even from far off she could tell he was limping slightly as he ran.

Socorro pushed past skeletons left and right. Half of them yelled at her and the other half stared. She knew now that Miguel had been telling the truth about the Tierra de los Muertos. And now she was wondering about other things her family had told her--like medicine and vitamins. Or Papá Noel. Or angels. She wondered, if Rosa saw all this, would she start to believe in God again?

Nina disappeared around a brick building after Dante. Socorro could not see Dante but she had been watching Nina run. And judging by the shouting behind her, Héctor was following her, too. Socorro followed around the corner after Nina. But when she entered the alley, it was empty. A complete dead end. And no Nina or Dante in sight.

"Where did she go?" she wondered aloud. She walked up the alley a little ways, but it ended where two brick buildings butted against a wall. It was too dark to see anything.

So when a pair of arms emerged from the brick wall itself to grab her, she started to shriek. One covered her mouth and the other wrapped around her torso. They brought her back into the darkness of the alley.

Her captor pulled her against the wall, obscured by total darkness. Socorro wriggled and thrashed, but the captor's vice was too strong. She thought about what her mamá had told her to do if she was ever to be grabbed by a stranger.

The captor let out a cry of pain as Socorro chomped on the flesh of their hand. For one moment, their grip loosened and Socorro was able to push away from them. She ran a few steps but was stopped when she smashed into...something. Socorro fell back on her rear as her nose gushed blood. She felt tears in her eyes but she knew she had to get out of there.

With one hand over her nose, she started to run forward again. Once again, she slammed into a hard surface. It was like she ran into an invisible wall. Socorro felt along whatever it was, but it seemed to extend across the whole alley. She pressed against it desperately, but it wouldn't budge.

"What is--?" She asked, turning around.

"Don't worry, I'll help you," a female voice said. It sounded familiar, but it sounded wrong somehow. It made Socorro's heart hammer in her chest. She backed into the invisible wall as Nina stepped forward, green eyes flashing as they caught the light.

"Nina?" Socorro asked around her hand. Her nose was gushing. She was starting to get squeamish about the blood. The only other time she had had a nosebleed was once when Abel had accidentally opened the door into her face when she was little.

"I'll help you," cooed Nina. She reached her hands out toward Socorro. The little girl saw Nina's arms, then. Both of her hands had bones showing through translucent skin halfway up her forearms. One of them had a bitemark in it; Nina had been the one to grab her. Socorro felt it in her heart that it would be a bad idea to go with Nina. There was something wrong with her but Socorro just didn't know what.

Héctor rounded the corner then, appearing at the opening of the alley. The bones in one of his legs were bent strangely, and one popped put completely as he entered the alleyway. He hobbled on his good leg, and leaned heavily on the wall. He was panting, but Socorro wasn't sure if it was from being winded or running. He was probably just in pain. He looked down the alley.

"Papá Héctor!" Socorro cried. He didn't turn to face her like she expected, though. 

Papá Héctor made a passing glance down the alley and then sighed. "I must have missed them!" he said, completely downtrodden. He glanced up the street, where he must have thought they ran off to.

Socorro was reminded of when she had tried to talk to Miguel earlier, and he hadn't responded becase she was cursed. But she knew without a doubt that the reason Héctor couldn't see her was because of the invisible wall.

Why did she ever break that stupid guitar?

Socorro called out to Héctor, pounding on the wall as he ran back the way he had come. Was he giving up? She shouted to him, rushing along the invisible threshold, careful not to run into it again.

"Wait!" Socorro called, defeated. He was gone. "Help me!" she cried with less force, her eyes filling with tears. She leaned against the glass-like surface and sank, letting her shoulders droop in hopelessness.

The woman behind her spoke clearly. The sharpness in it made Socorro's ears perk up and her hair stand on end. "Looks like he can't hear you." Socorro slowly turned to face the woman with a horrified expression. Nina stared down the scared little girl with menacingly green eyes that shined from behind almost like flashlights. "What's the matter, little one?" she demanded. Socorro's eyes sprang wide in fear. Nina never called her that. Always Coquis, or hermanita, or fellita, or one of her cute pastry names. And Nina definitely had soft, warm, brown eyes. Not these hard, cold green ones.

"You're not Nina," she realized, crawling backwards. But she had run out of room. Her free hand grazed the brick wall behind her. Still Nina stepped forward. Socorro edged backward, invisible magic wall on one side and brick wall to her back. She had nowhere to go. "Who are you? What happened to Nina? And where did Dante go?" She realized, looking around her. She had not seen the alebrije xolo since he had dashed through the doors at the department.

Nina spread her arms wide, as if to hug her. "Oh, little one, you are so naïve."

Socorro didn't know what 'naïve' meant but she had a feeling it had something to do with being little. Her family was always stopping her from doing things because she was little, or not old enough. But she knew it was because they cared about her. Well, at least now she did. As Nina stepped forward to grab her, she knew that this woman was not on her side. Socorro covered her face in fear and shrieked, even though she knew no one would hear her.

\---------------------------------------------  
"Madre de dios," Rosa murmured, as her cousin disentigrated into a flurry of petals. She watched them fall to the earth in a glimmering pile. The paint bucket fell to the ground with a clatter, paint splattering on her shoes. She turned to her brother and her aunt. "Did you see--"

Abel nodded in shock and Luisa crossed her arms.

"I didn't want him to go back," Tía Luisa grumbled. "I wanted him to stay here. He has a knack for getting in trouble, so I wanted to keep an eye on him. But no! Always these altruistic conquests, and I'm pretty sure he just likes the danger!" She thrust her arms in the air in frustration and stormed out of the cementerio. "Call me when he comes back, niños. I don't care how old he is, he's grounded." She continued muttering as she walked away, leaving Rosa and Abel to ponder what had happened.

"Altruistic conquests?" Abel asked his sister, who was still staring at the petals in shock. "I'm guessing she is referring to that one time he tried to run inside a burning building to save that cat."

"It was a dog," murmured Rosa dasedly. She finally looked at her brother. "He vanished into thin air," she stated dumbly.

Abel nodded. "Like Tía Luisa said. It must be really important, if three of them went this year."

Rosa snapped out of her stupor. "What do you mean?" She was starting to have the opposite of an existential crisis. There were things after death? You didn't just die and then vanish? There was consciousness after this? Was Miguel dead right now? What happened when you died? Was God involved in this? Or was this just for them, descended from the Aztecs?

Abel laughed at his sister. "I can see the wheels turning in your head. What I mean is, this is all entirely too coincidental. I mean," he said, glancing at the first pile of petals where Miguel had appeared from the first time. "Miguel's twenty-one this year. The same age Papá Héctor was when he died. Miguel is the one who brought back música to the family, after, what, ninety years without it? This year Miguel published that album and that article. Things must be stirring in the Land of the Dead. Don't you think it's odd?" He continued postulating. "How much do we really know about Nina, on the other hand. Her family is rich, involved in the music industry, right? So what does she have to do with this? It can't be a coincidence that all this stuff is happening."

Rosa waved her hands in front of her as if to erase and erite over the conversarion. "Espera, espera, espera. You think all of this happened on purpose," she asked, with a criticising exoression on her face. "You have thought a lot about this. I thought you didn't believe," she accused.

Abel shrugged but he looked her dead in the eyes. "I mean, he literally just disappeared in front of us. It's kinda hard not to believe in something when your cousin can vanish into thin air on a whim."

She swallowed a lump in her throat as realization set in. What Miguel had said hurt her deeply, but this was serious. His, Socorro's, and Nina's lives were at stake. Their last conversation could literally be their last. The weight of the implications of this night weighed heavily on her soul. "What can we do? How can we help?" Rosa asked her brother seriously.

He looked up to the stars. "I'm not necessarily sure there is amything we can do," he stated. Rosa looked above them, too, but there was nothing to see. It was well after eleven and the fireworks had ended a little while ago. "I think God or whomever called on Miguel and Coquis for this one," he speculated, meeting his sister's concerned eyes. "We need to wait it out here unless we get called, too. We're needed here."

Rosa wanted to argue, but she knew he had a point. She was starting to get the it hing feeling that this time would be different from the last time Miguel had gone into la Tierra de los Muertos. You coupdn't flirt with death and not get hurt.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't own Coco, as per ushe.
> 
> I adore Abel and Rosa, and I wish they had been given more screen time. But at the same time, I like that they have no set personalities so we can play with them more. Rosa I see as a mini-Imelda; angry, fierce, determined, but occasionally something will rattle her down to the bone. And Abel I think is sweet, smart, and for some reason takes eons to get punchlines to jokes.
> 
> Luisa is done with her kids' bullwonky.


	10. Arrebatos Emocionales

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prepare for emotional outbursts

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kind of a long boi, tbh. Well, long for me. I didn't mention it last week, but I did add some trigger tags because of Socorro's injury, just in case blood is a no-can-do for some of you.

Imelda stared at the spot where Miguel had been. She knew without a doubt that Miguel would be back within minutes, and she would be ready for him with a petal. Even her family seemed to know that, since none of them moved from their spots in the waiting area of the Department of Family Reunions.

"He'll be back, in a moment," Óscar echoed her thoughts. He normally just seemed to read Felipe's mind, but on occasion he could guess how Imelda was feeling, too. He was a little more in tune with her than Felipe was.

"I have no doubt," quipped Felipe, "he'll be back in--"

"Five minutes tops," Óscar again.

"I'll take that bet," Felipe challenged, and shook his twin's hand.

Rosita and Coco chuckled at their banter. They, too, knew that Miguel would probably be wreckless enough to come back, but the only question was 'when' he would return.

Imelda looked at the door Dante, Nina, Socorro, and Héctor had disappeared through. She considered sending Pepita after them, but she trusted her alebrije to do the right thing. If Imelda needed her, she would summon the alebrije.

The dog on the other hand...he had something in his mouth when he ran through the Department of Family Reunions, knocking over skeletons and chairs as he bolted through the large room. He seemed to be running with a purpose, but he was doing it in that dorky, "don't know what I am doing but I have an urge" kind of way.  
She had doubted him a few times before, but Dante was all right as an alebrije; he had guided Miguel and Héctor to the rest of the family. And he had been a wonderful companion to Miguel in his life as a family pet.

Imelda decided that she trusted him, even if he was an...unconventional alebrije. He would lead Socorro and Nina to the best possible fates on this family holiday.

All that was left to do was wait for Miguel and Héctor. She wondered why she had bothered sending Miguel home at all, if she knew he was just going to curse himself again. He had looked at her with such doubt, she found it insulting. He did not trust them to find his hermanita, and he would probably tag along to help if she didn't return.

As if on cue, a small whirlwind of cempazuchitl petals manifested before Imelda. Miguel appeared in a flurry of petals and light, leaving a small storm of yellow in his wake. Several skeletons passing by paused and gawked at the spectacle her tataranieto had created. Imelda stared in wonder but retained her posture. "Not even five minutes," she chastised him as she crossed her arms.

Miguel scowled at her. He was panting, face flushed, and he appeared...annoyed.

"Don't give me that look, Miguel," she lectured. "You got yourself into this mess."

He relaxed his face a touch but not by much. "I'm sorry, Mamá Imelda, it's not you, just...Rosa was being--She doesn't believe me. I just..." he sighed sharply and collected his thoughts. His voice cracked slightly as he said, "I want to help."

Her face reflected humored defeat. "I can't stop you from coming back, can I?"

He shook his head with a smile. "I'm afraid not, Mamá Imelda. I'm not going back til Nina and Socorro do." His voice sounded rough, almost like he had a cold, but his face was all smiles.

She smirked at him knowingly. "You are too much, Miguelito. This is dangerous, but I don't blame you for wanting to make sure Coquis is all right. And Nina, too." She paused, considering. "I quite like that girl, by the way. Not that you need it, but you have my stamp of approval." The corners of her mouth twitched in a smile.

He smiled back at her gratefully.

Héctor walked up beside them then. He looked disheveled, as if he had been through a small whirlwind himself. His hat was crooked and his hair was tusseled. Even his vest was askew. "I uh, lost Socorro and Nina," he said, wincing.

"You couldn't find them, papá?" asked Coco. Her eyes were filled with concern for both her papá and the living amongst them.

Héctor stooped to rub his busted tibia. After ten years, it was still cracked; no amount of remembrance would fix him completely. Miguel watched him, eyes full of concern. "Are you all right, Papá Héctor?" He asked. He helped his great-great grandfather stand upright again. Héctor leaned on him and smiled.

"I'm fine, mijo. The old limbs aren't what they used to be, though. Your old tatarabuelo is getting older than dirt." He chuckled at that, and so did Miguel, despite himself. "That dog of yours can run like the wind, that's for sure. And so can your little sister." He looked off into the disatnce where Dante had bolted.

"You should try playing tag with her," Miguel commented, making the others laugh. It was good to be with Miguel again, able to touch him and tell him things, ask him questions, and make him laugh. He was quite possibly the only living person on earth who could empathize with them. Well, now he was one of three people, Imelda realized with a thoughtful expression. It couldn't be natural to be tampering with the veil this much.

Despite the strange feeling in her soul finally revealing itself as a solveable problem, Imelda's metaphorical gut still clenched. She was still nervous for Socorro and Miguel, and now Nina had been thrown into the mix.

Imelda knew that Dante was probably on a mission with the two girls, if they had indeed chased him down and caught up to him. But she also knew that the Rivera family had cut it entirely too close last time, even with two spirit guides on their side. She didn't want to take that risk with either of her great great grandchildren, or with Nina. Not that she had much of a choice. Miguel was going to be stubborn, doing whatever he could until he got Socorro and Nina home. There was nothing she could do about that; Miguel would do anything for his familia. Just like Héctor had done everything in his power to try to see Coco before she died.

Finally Imelda's eyes met Miguel's. "I'm sending you home at four in the morning, no matter what happens," she said decisively. "You can help us try to find Nina and Nina's family, but there is no way you can risk yourself again when we have an easy way to send you home. However I am fairly confident it won't take that long to get the three of you blessed."

He smiled gratefully at her. "Thank you, Mamá Imelda, I--"

"I'm not finished," she said, slicing a hand through the air as if slicing through his next comment. Her face was severe as she continued with, "The next time I see you you had better be old and grey and skeletal yourself. Or else, I will hit you so hard with mi bota that your head will spin."

Miguel gulped.

Héctor put an arm around Miguel. "Better do as she says, chamaco," he chuckled. Imelda gave him a look, but they all headed out the door as a family. "Who's ready for a family adventure?" Héctor quipped.

Imelda reached for his hand, and without a word they headed to the front of the family to lead the way. Once they were in the courtyard in front of the Department of Family Reunions, Imelda took her free hand and stuck it in her mouth to whistle loudly. Now seemed like a good time to summon Pepita; it had only taken them seconds to lose Miguel last time.

Without missing a beat, a loud roar filled the air. Pepita swooped down to the family, but instead of landing in front of Imelda like she thought Pepita might, the winged jaguar landed in front of Miguel. She roared in his face in anger as Miguel braced against her wrath. After she had had her little yelling spat, Pepita began to sniff him all over before pushing him with her paw. He fell on his rear with an, "Oof."

"I get it, I get it, you're mad at me," Miguel said from the ground. "But we need help," he said, shoving at her talloned paw as she tried to hold him down.

Pepita huffed at him, looking to Imelda for clarification. Imelda gave him a look as well, before turning to her alebrije. "It's true, Pepita. He has permission this year to be with us."

Pepita removed her paw from Miguel's torso with an offended little sniff.

"Kind of," muttered Mamá Coco with a laugh, as she helped her bisnieto to his feet. He gratefully embraced her and didn't let go for a little while.

"Te quiero, Miguelito. I missed you," she said, cupping his chin.

He smiled at her. "I miss you too, Mamá Coco."

Imelda cleared her throat. "Miguel," she said sharply. "We need something that Nina or Socorro touched for Pepita to sniff."

Miguel thought for a moment, pulling away from his bisabuela. "I might have something." He dug into his pockets for a moment, before coming up with his phone and his wallet, but little else. He frowned. "I hugged both of them," he realized. "Would that work for tracking them?"

Imelda smiled. "It would." She had been petting Pepita as a way of apology. Now she stood back so Pepita could get the girls' scent off of him. He spread his arms wide, letting her sniff his arms and his torso. He laughed as she nuzzled his head, her whiskers tickling his cheeks and neck.

Finally the giant alebrije stepped back from him, and looked off into the distance.

"That must be where they are," Imelda began, but Pepita nudged Imelda, and looked off into the distance in the opposite direction.

Miguel frowned. "Wait--does that mean--"

Imelda frowned too. "She smells them from two directions. They split up. But why?" She asked. She put her hands on her hips and faced Héctor. "I thought you were chasing Socorro? Disn't she run that way?" She pointed the way Pepita had first looked.

Héctor put his hand on the back of his neck. "She did, mi amor. I followed her until my leg gave out."

Felipe mumbled, "Probably a bad idea to let the limp chase after her," to which Óscar chuckled. Coco swatted at the back of their heads, but they ducked out of the way and snickered to themselves.

Héctor continued obliviously, putting a hand on his chin. "Now that I think about it, I didn't see Nina or Dante. I only saw Coquis. Unless Pepita is smelling someone else here?" he prompted Miguel.

Miguel shook his head. "I'm pretty sure I'm the only one who ended up here, aside from Socorro and Nina." He crossed his arms and looked off to the side. It reminded Imelda of Victoria, when she was trying to remember where she had misplaced a lost belonging. "Well, there are nine of us. We can go in both directions."

Victoria placed a hand on her father's shoulder. "I'll go with papá and mamá," she said, indicating Julio and Coco.

"Me too," piped up Rosita. She had been relatively quiet til now, watching the family chortle back and forth.

"I'll go with you guys," decided Miguel, but Imelda held him back. 

"You're staying with me, Miguel." She looked at her family. "No matter what, we stay in our two groups as a family. We return to this spot at four in the morning, no matter what happens, ¿verdad?" Everyone agreed with the matriarch.

"I need to go with Tía Rosita," Miguel mumbled abashedly.

Rosita stared at him wide-eyed. "Did you vandalize my gravestone, too, Miguel? Ay, mijo, you need to clean those up," she reprimanded, even though her heart wasn't in it. She didn't have a stern bone in her body. "But I suppose that can wait."

Miguel elected not to tell them the paint had not come out of his Mamá Imelda's tombstone even with soap and elbow grease. Better they find out next year. He gripped his elbow. "Sí, Tía Rosita."

"Very well," Imelda glowered. "Rosita, Miguel, with me and Pepita. We will follow Socorro. Héctor, Coco, Julio, Óscar, Felipe, follow the other trail and see if you can find Nina." She set to climbing onto her alebrije's back. Miguel stooped to give her a boost, which she gratefully accepted despite the fact that she did not need help in the slightest.

"You're getting conditions this time, mijo," Rosita decided as Miguel helped her up the winged jaguar's back as well. Miguel climbed up after them and held onto his great-aunt.

"I'll see you all soon!" Miguel called as they lifted into the air. He was sad to be away from the other Riveras, but he knew that when he died he would have all the time in the world with them. He just had to be patient.

The colors of the city flew past them. People below them continued in their festivities. Even though not all of them celebrated with their living relatives, they seemed to enjoy celebrating thr fact that they had lived. Miguel waved to someone they passed in one of the teetering towers as they flew past his window. He waved amusedly back. It occurred to Imelda that they had not gotten much of a chance to explore the Tierra de los Muertos with Miguel because he had been running from them practically the whole night. As Pepita banked harshly, Imelda firmly decided that he didn't need to because he would have plenty of time to do the exploring later.

They landed on Shantytown. Pepita reared back and hovered over a shack before gently landing on it. It sunk a little beneath her weight, but held. Imelda, Rosita, and Miguel hopped off of the jaguar alebrije's back.

The atmosphere between Shantytown and the rest of the Tierra de los Muertos shifted drastically. This place was filled with darkness and memories that had been long forgotten. It was almost like ghosts of the forgotten walked through these parts even after their spirits were long gone. 

Imelda had not been here in several years, since Héctor had moved back in with them. She did not think she would ever return, but she also knew it was odd that Pepita had dragged them way out to the edge of their known world to look for a little girl on foot. Imelda shook herself out; she always trusted her alebrije.

"Go help the others," Imelda instructed Pepita. The winged beast soared off into the night the way they had come as Miguel climbed down the side of the shack. He helped his tía and then his tatarabuela afterward.

Miguel recognized some of his surroundings, but nothing immediately jumped out to him. "Why would Dant run here?" He asked. "This place is so empty." Miguel took a step in what he thought might be the right direction. A loud crack resounded in the air as his foot sank through the plank and landed in the water below. He cried out in surprise as he sank down almost to his waist. Rosita and Imelda grabbed his hands and hoisted him back to relatively solid ground.

"Be careful, mijo. You're heavier than us," Imelda cautioned. "Half these planks are probably rotted out."

He nodded, treading more carefully this time, wary of the dark waters below them. He had been in cities where the sidewalks were made of wood and boardered the ocean, but they had an aura of happiness and frviolity about them. This town only gave him the creeps.

Without the skeletons, it was even darker and much more eery.

They made their way along the boardwalk, keeping an eye out for anything that would lead them to Nina or Socorro. "Where is everyone?" Miguel asked after a little while.

"They moved to de la Cruz tower a few years ago. They live in comfort now for their final years," Rosita filled him in. "After Papá Teto inherited the mansion, he decided that he didn't need it and gave it to his friends."

"Like you inherited the de la Cruz fortune," added Imelda.

Moguel frowned. "But then where does De la Cruz live?" He didn't like this one bit. It seemed that by the uneasy maneurisms of his family members that they didn't either. Miguel found himself wishing he had called his papá before whisking himself away to the Tierra de los Muertos again.

Imelda came up to a disused dwelling, where an eery green light was emitting from under the front door and through the cracks in the walls. She felt her unease heighten as she stopped in front of the familiar shack.

It was pretty unassuming to Miguel; part of the roof had caved in and was replaced by a tarp. The walls were made of bits of metal and mismatched wood from seemingly every type of wood. The windows were blacked out by cardboard and duct tape. It looked decrepid, but it was no different from any of the other shanty shacks around them.

"Of course it would be here," she muttered bitterly. "This was where Héctor used to live."

"He lives with us now," added Tía Rosita helpfully.

"He lived here?" Miguel asked skeptically. It was difficult for him to imagine the much-more loved Papá Héctor he had seen tonight living in a place so...destitute. Not because he couldn't imagine it in his mind's eye, but because it pained his heart to imagine his mentor living somewhere like this. He was grateful that Imelda had brought him back home.

Imelda sighed, before reaching for the doorknob of the shanty shack. To her surprise, however, the door swung inward of its own accord.

Miguel felt a prickling in his head again, like his migraine was coming back. He winced in pain as they ventured into the shack. The green light was not emitting from any particular source.

The room was dark and eerie. Miguel felt along the wall for a light switch but found none. It wasn't difficult to see but it would have made him feel better to have a different source of light besides the sinister glow around them. It reminded him of looking through night vision goggles.

"I don't like this," Imelda muttered.

The door slammed shut behind them. Miguel turned to jiggle the handle, but the door wouldn't budge. He refrained from swearing in front of his elders but boy was he tempted to.

"Miguel, it's so nice to finally meet the family!" cried a familiar voice. But instead of loving and bouncy and fun, it was too high, too cheerful, too fake.

Miguel slowly turned and saw her. Nina floated in the middle of the shack, as if suspended by wires. Her hair flowed in an eerie wind and her skin glowed irridescently. Her phalanges glowed through her skin, just like Miguel's did.

"Nina?" asked Imelda in surprise, before anyone could say anything. "What is happening? What are you doing here?" Imelda did not like to feel frightened, so she often disguised her worst feelings with anger. But now, even Miguel could tell she was very very frightened.

"I'm righting a wrong," she said, looking down her nose at Imelda. "Not that it's any of your business." Nina cocked her head, and her green syes flashed at Miguel as her mouth spread into a glistening white smile. He only gulped, unable to get those freaky eyes out of his head. As she stared at him, his head pounded harder.

Imelda gaped at Nina. No one ever spoke to her that way. "What do you mean?" she demanded, ignoring the dig.

"As I said," Nina snapped her head at imelda's direction. They all heard an audible crack. "It's none of your business."

Miguel winced. "Nina--what's happening? Are you all right? This isn't you! I know it's scary, but we can help you. I can help you find your family, we can--"

He was cut off when Nina lifted her hand. With the flick of her wrist, Miguel was lifted into the air and thrown across the room.

He landed on an ancient rickety dressor which immediately splintered under the force of his weight.

He coughed as he sat up. Imelda cast a quick glance at him to make sure he was okay before turning back to the floating bruja.

"Enough!" shouted Imelda. "How are you doing this?" she demanded. Something sinister was happening here and she was going to find out what. She had met a witch or two in her day, but they had been only herbalists, and did not take the practice particularly seriously. Imelda herself did not believe in magic. Now, a floating woman in the middle of an abandoned cabin was throwing people across the room using only her mind, and Imelda was starting to see things in a new light. Literally.

"I have to right a wrong for an old friend." Her head swiveled to Miguel, who was slowly pulling himself out of the pile of wood. "You made a grave mistake when you turned the royalties away from my family, Miguel."

Miguel's eyes met hers. "Your family? What do you--" his eyes lit up with recognition. "Your family was receiving the royalites?" He looked at Rosita and Imelda, then back at Nina. "I swear my lawyer met up with the main beneficiary. He said he didn't care much. He said the money wasn't going anywhere. I only thought about helping my family. I didn't realize it would hurt anyone." He looked genuinely regretful.

She tilted her head. "Stupid boy. Finally he gets it." Her face turned into a pitying frown as she floated toward him.

Imelda made to move but Nina raised a hand at her. Imelda and Rosita were shoved back to the wall by an unseen force.

Nina hovered over Miguel, who had freed himself from the demolished furniture. "You're lucky you're pretty," she said, gently stroking the side of his face, ending with an aggressive pat to his cheek.

"Nina, I swear, I had no idea that it was your family's money we were getting. You can have it all, you can have it back, we don't even need it--"

She pulled back from him and laughed, a menacing shriek that filled the shack and echoed strangely. "Need it? Need it? Miguel, my sweet, no one needs money. No one needs fame or fortune or any of that bullshit," she said, her face taking on a deadly glare. She inched toward Miguel again, one hand raised. "All I care about is my family's reputation here." She raised her hands and gestured around the room. "See, if you live in poverty, as long as you are remebered you can survive here. But if no one knows who you are, you wither away. Isn't that right, Imelda?"

Imelda felt her soul wither at the dig, remembering Héctor's shuddering as he was nearly forgotten. He had been unconscious for weeks after that holiday, and even when he awakened he was in a lot of pain. It took her years to learn to start forgiving herself. Hell, even now she was still wrought with guilt.

Miguel was confused. "Nina, your family's ofrenda is loaded with photos. They were swapping stories before I left--is someone being left out? We can try to jog everyone's memory when we get back! Like I did with Héctor." He was a desperate man clinging to desperate solutions, but Imelda had the feeling nothing her boy did would ease the bruja's anger.

"What do we do, Mamá Imelda?" Rosita asked her. Imelda faced her. They were both being pressed against the wall as if being weighed down by a heavy blanket.

"I don't know," the matriarch of the family answered. Nina was a woman on a mission, and her mission had a lethal ending, she could feel it. "We need to bless him home, but--"

Nina cackled, a hideous noise compared to her lovely laugh. "Miguel, my dear sweet idiot boy, no one will care about the woman who was buried beneath a mango tree for seventy years. They only care about who is around right now, and what LIES they spread about the people who died long ago."

Miguel wracked his brain. "Nina what are you talking about? I'm confused. I never lied about anyone."

She screeched then, the noise making the shack rumble. Miguel covered his ears in pain.

"You spread these terrible terrible things about my family to the living world, and now they only remember us for scandal." Nina's eyes were starting to glow again. As they did, Miguel felt his headache worsen. The cabin began to rumble in an unseen wind. The floorboards trembled, and the windows cracked.

He squinted as her eyes became brighter and brighter. "You have wronged my family, Miguel Rivera. And I will pay you back for that. Because of the lies you spread about my uncle, his afterlife is ruined. So I will take away yours."

Imelda realized with horror what the bruja was implying. Taking away someone's afterlife was like taking their life; you had no right to it, no matter what they did to you. No one deserved to be forgotten. She tried to step forward again. Without even looking, Nina flicked her wrist, sending Imelda backwards into Rosita.

"Your uncle?" Miguel asked. "I never said your family was--" his eyes widened. "You mean Ernesto?"

"We have a winner!" Nina cried. "You're such an idiot. No wonder my stupid niece likes you so much. Rich and pretty and dumb." Nina lifted her hands above her head. The boards lining the ceiling began to rip apart as a green tornado of energy encompassed the room.

"Miguel!" cried Mamá Imelda, but her scream was swallowed in the wind. They were across the room, and any time they tried to move the wind pushed them back.  
Miguel stared in shock at the girl he shared so many memories with. She was going crazy, and irreversibly so. She had never displayed such power or anger before. Never once mentioned the de la Cruz money. But now it seemed to be all she cared about.

Nina raised her hands above her head and lightning colleced above her in a bright orb of energy.

Her eyes snapped in Miguel's direction, and then a moment later so did the ball of fire. The inferno rushed at Miguel. Vaguely he noticed Imelda and Rosita rushing at him as they were momentarily freed from the force pressing against them.

The heat was extraordinary. He had never felt anything like it, not even when he had darted into the burning building straight into a wall of fire last summer to save that dog. It was hotter than that, but somehow darker. He couldn't help the cry of pain that escaped him. It was getting hotter and brighter by the second. He cried out in pain, certain he would pass out as every bone in his body sung with flame.

Something reached into the fire and gripped his arm. Something held his shoulder as suddenly the fire released him.

Time seemed to slow down. He felt the heat radiate from within himself, exploding in agony. Rosita's face appeared beside him, and her bones hurned brighter and brighter. Miguel caught a glimpse of his own hand, where his bones glowed brightly as he was cursed too.

Everything went blinding white.

Imelda watched in horror as two of her family members exploded in blinding light. She cried out in horror but her cry was suffocated by an explosive force. Imelda was flung backward as the shack erupted in light and fire. Rays of green and yellow light cascaded across the room. Imelda felt herself being thrown into a wall, which buckled under her weight. She knew that if she was alive it would have posed great injury, because it hurt a fair deal as she smacked her head against something.

The first thing she did when she shakily stood was examine her surroundings for Miguel and Rosita. When she did not immediately see them in the wreckage of the shack, she cried out their names.

Imelda did not panic. She did not scream or shout. She powered through pain and tragedy. She was a pillar of strength for her family. But not today. She frantically threw boards left and right as she searched the spot that Rosita and Miguel had been. 

It took a great deal of effort; the entire roof of the shack had collapsed, and half of it had been dropped straight into the water below them. Imelda was standing on several small islands of debris that shifted in the water under her weight. And any of the small islands could hold her family members. She tossed aside pieces of her husband's old home with a great desperation. Only after moving a large pile of boards did she see something.

A cluster of golden flower petals floating on the water. Miguel had been sent back.

Part of her sighed with relief. But she knew she still needed to find Rosita. She continued digging in the wreckage, until a voice made her halt.

"She isn't there." Nina's voice, so careful and cold all night, was dry and drained.

Imelda ignored her. She didn't care what the witch did to her. She needed to find Rosita. She continued to dig through the boards, shoving some aside and breaking the ones that were wedged too far in the mess to move aside. She was up to her kneees in water as she searched, barely floating.

"She isn't there."

Imelda faced her again, realizing that Nina's eyes were not the bright green they were moments ago. Her eyes were the soft golden color they normally were. The girl stood almost drunkenly, her posture crooked and painful. She stood only a few meters from Imelda, up to her ankles in water as she, too, floated on the boards.

"Where is she?" Imelda asked, frightened to know the answer.

Nina's eyes were empty. "She's gone. Forgotten. I destroyed her soul."

Imelda's heart dropped. "You're lying." She turned back to the mess of the obliterated shack. Ashes smouldered, planks hissing as the water touched them. Ruined papers fluttered in the air. Imelda knew in her heart that if she had not recovered Rosita by now, she wasn't going to. She sagged as the realization hit her; she had lost a family member due to her arrogance, once again.

"I am not lying, dear Imelda."

Imelda's eyes widened as she whirled. Nina floated yet again, her face contorted into a wicked smile. Her eyes flashed green again. Her hands glowed with another wave of energy, though not nearly as big as the other one. Without warning she threw a small ball of flame at Imelda. The green ball of fire hit a pile of wood and erupted into orange flames once it took.

"Agh!" Imelda cried out. "How could you do this to your novio's familia?" she cried. Terror seized her being as she dodged Nina's attacks.

Nina threw another fireball at her. "In case you haven't noticed, I'm not Katerina." Nina smiled cruelly as she threw a small fireball at Imelda, who didn't have enough time to leap over a board to get out of the way. She flew backwards into the water.

Imelda burst to the surface. It was harder to swim as a skeleton because their limbs did not have enough surface area to push much water aside. She clung to a post that jutted out of the water.

"Nina, please, stop this!" She cried. "This isn't you."

Nina rolled her eyes, hovering.

"Nina, please, bring her back," Imelda whispered in fear. "Let me take her place. I'll do anything, just please don't harm my familia."

Nina waved her off. "Do you ever stop talking? You're hust like the little brat. Always talking, she wouldn't shut her mouth until we ducttaped it shut."

Imelda's blood would have run cold if she was still alive. She sneered up at Nina. "What did you do to my grandchild?" she demanded. 

Nina shrugged. She had a pretty good vantage point from up here on the roof. If one of the other Riveras came to rescue her they would be easy targets.

Nina grimaced at her, with the most pained expression that Imelda had ever seen on another person. "There's nothing you can do." She raised her hand and pointed it at Imelda. Blue sparks began to erupt from her hand as she gathered the energy from the air. "I can't have you telling that family of yours what happened here. I will silence you forever, Imelda Rivera."

The ball of lightning flew at Imelda.

For one solid second, Imelda had thought Nina was going to take her side, to calm down, to explain herself. But as the orb of lightning flew at her, she felt it in her soul that she had made a grave mistake. She closed her eyes and let fate envelope her in a ball of fire.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so super grateful to you guys! I never expected so many hits! (Granted I know like maybe ten of them are me checking on the fic from my phone). 
> 
> I do not own Coco
> 
> Maybe next chapter we will find out what the heckin heck happened to Dante?
> 
> This was my fave chapter to write so far.
> 
> Fires in my town are still no joke; smoke is getting worse by day. Just google the red skies in California and you will see what I mean. Stay safe guys.


	11. La letra de la familia

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We see things from Nina's point of view.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Nina is being possessed by Lucia; when Lucia moves, so does Nina (against her will). I did my best to make that clear but I am sorry if there is confusion.

Nina watched in horror as her own body betrayed her. She saw the flames engulf Miguel. Based on the way the energy seared her hands, she knew it caused him great agony. Miguel cried out in pain as his limbs contorted. It was almost like he was being burned alive from the inside out. His cries echoed in her mind and made her eys cloud over with tears. Even Tía Lucia was in awe of what they had done; combining the power of two family witches held more strength than either of them could imagine.

Out of the corner of her eye, Nina saw a pink blur rush to Miguel. His Tía Rosita, if she was right. She rushed toward him, and gripped his arm. But by then, the light was getting too bright. Tía Lucia closed her eyes as the blast caused a huge explosion that transformed the whole shack into smithereens.

Nina's body was thrown into a wall, but Tía Lucia quickly recovered herself enough to catch them before they fell into the water. She floated there for several moments, panting. The shack was in absolute ruins. A stirring caused Tía Lucia to turn her head as a skeleton clad in purple emerged from a pile of the wreckage.

Imelda's voice rang out. "Miguel! Rosita!"

Nina's impression of Imelda from her photo was a stern woman. She had thought everyone from back in the day was like that. But the cry that erupted from this particular skeleton was so full of anguish and passion...Nina's heart wrenched. She watched as Imelda dug through the planks of wood, crying out her family's names. 

Nina could not do this. She reached within herself, trying to find the small pool of energy she had inherited from her family. Maybe if she tapped into it, she could fix everything. As she dug deeper within her soul, Imelda broke planks and removed rotted and smouldering wood. Nina's resolve was strengthened when she heard Imelda desperately splashing to another place to rummage around.

When Nina opened her eyes, they were her own. She felt momentary control over her own body, but she felt the tendrils of her Tía Lucia's magic drag her back. Nina's limbs fought unnaturally against the pull of her aunt's magic. It was like trying to pull all of her limbs out of a spiderweb, or away from the strings in a puppeteer's hands.

Out of the corner of her eye she spotted a small pile of flower petals, floating gently in the water. Something within her told her that Miguel was safe, even if he had an enchantment on him. But she could sort that enchantment out later when she returned to the Tierra de los Vivos. Nina struggled, and finally found it within herself to use her own voice again.

"She isn't there," Nina called, but her words came out strained. Her body almost contorted as she took a shaky step forward, unaided by the witch's powers. Her voice felt unnatural to her own ears, after being in Tía Lucia's mouth all night.

Imelda continued rummaging through the debris. She seemed undeterred by Nina's movements. Nina took another step toward Imelda, as regret washed over her. Tía Lucia's inky magic was beginning to clutch at her like spidery tendrils. But she didn't care what the witch did to her. She needed to talk to Imelda. To tell her what had happened, so she could possibly get away.

"She isn't there."

Imelda finally looked at Nina, seeming to realize something was different about her. They faced each other, if a bit awkwardly with one of Nina's shoulders unnaturally lifted and one of her legs facing inward as two beings fought within her for control. Nina knew she was going to lose; she was not a fully realized witch. Nina needed to tell Imelda fast.

"Where is she?" Imelda asked, voice marred by fear.

Nina knew it in her very soul. She had cast a Spell of Oblivion on Miguel. Tía Lucia's intent had seemed to be killing Miguel's afterlife. Nina logically knew that if that particular spell hit someone who was already dead, it would erase their memory. "She's gone. Forgotten. I destroyed her soul."

Imelda's face dropped only slightly. Her shoulders tensed. "You're lying." But even Nina could see the crack in her resolve. The fear in her eyes. The heartbreak within her. Imelda surveyed the remains of the old shack, seeming to realize that Nina was telling the truth.

Just then, Nina's whole being was overcome with darkness. It was like when Nina was a child and she had accidentally broken one of her mother's fountain pens; there was a sharp snap, and then there was inky color everywhere. Nina felt the blackness seep into her soul as Tía Lucia absorbed her again.

"I am not lying, dear Imelda."

Nina felt her own body throw wicked fireball after fireball at Imelda. When Imelda landed in the water, Nina knew that Imelda felt defeated. But Tía Lucia ignored her pleas to spare Imelda, throwing one final, fatal orb of energy at the skeleton. Nina knew right away the spell cast would silence Imelda, but she did not know if it was as powerful as the spell she had thrust upon Miguel. He probably felt that one down to his bones; she was willing to bet that Imelda felt pain in her soul's core.

The spell struck Imelda square in the chest. What was left were the floating, unmoving, scattered remains of a skeleton. Tía Lucia floated over the body and began to collect her pieces. Looking around, she spotted something she could use, and began to throw Imelda's bones into a crate. Imelda did not move throughout her endeavors. Her eyes remained closed, as if she was unconscious.

Nina felt like crying as her own arms placed the bones into the crate. The corners of her eyes blurred with tears but Tía Lucia annoyedly wiped them away.

"You can't keep crying, child," Lucia snapped at her sobrina.

Nina snapped back using her own mouth. "You enchanted their dog. You kidnapped Miguel's little aister! And Imelda and Rosita..." her voice choked and her eyes stung with the threat of tears. "You realize these people are my family, too, right? And by extention, your family?"

Tía Lucia seemed unphased by the fact that Nina was controlling parts of her body. Lucia held up Imelda's dismembered skull. She felt the small golden markings on Imelda's cheekbones with her thumb. "I needed the dog to leave. He would have interfered with my plans in the long run." Images of the green xolo flashed in Nina's vision. "We sent him to go guard the living Rivera family. That is all." Lucia tucked the skull under her arm and began searching around them.

"What about Socorro?" Nina demanded coldly.

Lucia continued searching around them, hovering as she swept up the sidewalk in front of the obliterated shack. "She will be important to my plan."

Lucia had blocked off her thoughts to Nina from the moment Lucia possessed her. Nina had no clue what she and Ernesto planned, just that it had tomdo with Miguel and the family fortune. Nina herself didn't care much for the money; if the Garcia-Bernal family sold any number of their town houses and properties they would have enough money to get by to find employment. Not to mention that her cousin Arturo was still an agent; he made a lot of money off of musicians en the EEUU.

Lucia seemed to locate what she was looking for, because she made a beeline to another shack, momentarily phasing through the front door. Nina's eyes locked on a rusted chest with a lock on the front.

"You're putting her head in that?" Nina wondered in horror.

Tía Lucia waved her hand in front of the chest. The lock on the front popped open. Inside were strange knick knacks that looked like they had been collected from every era. An ageless wooden doll with the facepaint that faded and cracked; several ancient issues of newpaper and magazines from all over the world; some dog tags from different wars through history; various buttons and hair pins. All important to somebody at some pooint, Tía Lucia now regarded it as junk. She tossed aside the stack of papers and threw Imelda's skull inside. Waving her hand in front of the chest, she locked it tightly again.

"What are you trying to do?" Nina demanded.

Tía Lucia deftly lifted the chest using their combined magic. "I just want to keep the beastie busy for a while." As if on cue, a roaring from somewhere overhead sent fear down Tía Lucia's spine. Nina felt it too. It must have been the jaguar that Ernesto had been so afraid of.

Tía Lucia cast the locked chest into the place where the shack had been. It slowly sank as it filled with the cold dead water.

"You'll never get away with this," Nina growled, trying again to rear her own control.

Tía Lucia forced Nina's body to take in a solid breath. As the air filled her lungs, Nina felt her own soul being squashed again, further down than before. It suddenly felt as if she was looking at everything through a sheet of water. Sounds and sights were muffled.

Nina felt like she was floating in water. She could not see anything besides a dim light in front of her as Tía Lucia forced her body to move around. Nina had no concept of time. All she could think about was Miguel.

Oh, Miguel. He would never forgive her for this; there was nothing more important to him than his family. She had known that from the moment she met him. She let the memory take over her being as it seared into her mind. She could see Miguel's smile and hear his laugh as he examined the snapped-off heel of her bota. She remembered the amused lilt of his voice as he said, "My family owns the shoe shop here in town. I can fix it for you." He had been so willing to impress her with the family shop, but she was more impressed by his kind character and smiling eyes.

He would be in pain when he arrived in the Tierra de los Muertos. She had literally sent a fireball at him. No matter who you were, that had to hurt. He had probably come here for Socorro, and it had only gotten him burned in the end. He was so stupid for coming to get her; Nina had understood the risks the moment her skeleton began to show through her skin. She could feel the hollowness expand through her body as the night wore on. It made her head dizzy with fear as her flesh literally disappeared.

Everything was beginning to blur together in this little space Nina existed in. Even her feelings for Miguel were slowly being corrupted; she was starting to resent him for screwing over her family; He had wronged her; He had taken a steady income her family had relied on for decades. Nina was one of the main beneficiaries of the de la Cruz money; it should have been partly hers. Now it belonged to stupid Miguel. He deserved to be forgotten.

Nina realized with a shock that the emotions she was feeling were not her own; Tía Lucia was overshadowing her entire being. Nina did not know how long she could live like this before she forgot her self. She had tried to reach out to Miguel a few times through the night but all she had received from him were signals that he was in great pain. It seemed that when she tried to reach out to him it just gave him severe headaches. When she tried to warn him not to follow the enchanted Dante, she could only see a fire envelope his mind.

Nina had never been very good at dreams or memory manipulation. She partially believed that was because she had not inherited her family's power, but also that maybe her mother had blocked that part of her. She only had faded memories of her own mother now. Her mother was a wispy woman who disliked using her spells, even when a client got particularly greedy or annoyed. Nina did not understand it as a child, but she had pieced it together over the years that her mother had suffered a lot. Nina's mother was under a lot of pressure from the witch side of the family. Pressure to pass on her powers, to seek a coven, to bind her soul to an object...Nina understood that her mother was not a happy woman. That was probably why she ran away. Nina could see why she fled now. Nina had not been able to resist the call of her Tía Lucia this holiday; it probably nagged her mother from the inside out since she was a girl. Nina was the first one to actually answer Lucia's call in over seventy years.

And look where it got her: Trapped in her own body, doing who knows what, and tormenting her novio's family!

At least Dante was safe; the moment he had snagged the shawl out of Nina/Lucia's hand, Lucia had thrust a spell at him to enchant him. Technically he was a sacred spirit and she could not force him to hurt the family. But Lucia could "guide" him to protect certain members of the family. She had "guided" Dante to run through the Department of Family Reunions and then to turn immediately around to head back to the living Riveras to visit Miguel's mother. He would stay there until the early morning, when the last of the spirits would cross the bridge to return to the Tierra de los Muertos. Nina didn't mind that Dante would protect Luisa, but it had brought Socorro into Tía Lucia's clutches.

Tía Lucia had ungracefully abducted Socorro, despite the little girl's loud protests. Socorro had bucked and kicked and screamed, before Lucia was forced to ducttape her mouth shut lest they be discovered. Lucia had swiped her hand through the air, and a door had lifted out of the ground. Socorro had been horrified as she was shoved through it.

Nina had not seen what was on the other side of the door, and she didn't know if she wanted to. The door slammed shut immediately and disappeared back into the ground. "Relax, she's fine," Lucia's voice had interrupted her thoughts, seemingly reading her mind. "I put her someplace safe to wait until we get back to her." 

But that had not eased Nina's fears. She had fought Lucia's control all the way to Shantytown, where they had waited until Miguel and his family arrived. Nina had been relieved at first to see Miguel, but had immediately swallowed that relief when Lucia began to attack him.

She tried to ignore it when in her mind's eye she saw a blurry image of Tía Lucia depositing a trunk in an alley in the middle of the city. It was probably a ruse to keep the other half of the family busy, but Nina's thoughts did not dwell on Imelda's bones for long. Nina was confident that the Riveras could find Imelda. Nina was more concerned about Socorro and herself. They were the ones with the time crunch. Imelda had all the time in the world to be saved from her curse, even if Nina herself had to do it upon her rescue.

Nina wondered if Miguel was all right. He was the one person she cared about most in this world, second to maybe her missing mother. She hoped Miguel made it back home in one piece, and that Socorro and she herself could follow after him. She could feel the bones up to her shoulders now, and her frame felt so much lighter.

Nina wondered at her prospects of getting out of this mess; Tía Lucia had been pretty clear on paying back Ernesto, and Ernesto had been pretty clear on exacting revenge on the Riveras. From what Nina had picked up in her fog, Ernesto had been stripped of all of his benefits and perks and reputation in the Tierra de los Muertos, just as the Garcia family had been in the Tierra de los Vivos. Ernesto and Tía Lucia had been communicating over the course of the past seventy or so years about all their complaints about death.

Nina floated in her anger for a while, stewing as Tía Lucia did who-knows-what to her body. Nina needed to get out of here. She didn't even know where 'here' was; she might have been floating around inside of Lucia's heart, or inside her magic or her soul, but Nina did not know any magic to escape such a place. She only knew thoughts and emotions and a little about herbs and lights.

Then she got the flicker of an idea. Nina floated in nothingness with the occasional light shining through, but she herself could control lights and fire sometimes. Maybe if she captured some of the light, she could guide it to shine through an entrance for her? If she escaped Tía Lucia's clutches, she could take down the bruja before she hurt anyone else. Nina began to concentrate, feeling like this was her most important task yet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am rooting for Nina so hard!
> 
> Also creepy door that Lucia can summon from nowhere? Wth??? 0.0
> 
> Sorry this was late! 0.0


	12. Despedazándose

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So...what's Héctor up to while his wife is being SPLODED?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was a fun one to write

ASSEMBLING IMELDA

No one had ever killed a skeleton before, to Imelda's knowledge. Many had certainly tried, carrying their beef from their lives into their deaths and continuing wars and fights that resulted to absolutely violent behavior. Skeletons could get hurt, but they could not be killed.

At least to Imelda's knowledge.

But Nina had used powerful magic, on a very magically charged night, in a magical land. So when Nina fired that inferno at Imelda, she did not know what to expect.

The ball of energy was so horrific to witness. The idea that that much power could be hurdling toward her mortified her. The fact that that energy had already struck Miguel and Rosita jarred her to her core.

She didn't think skeletons could die, but for the briefest fraction of a second before the light hit her, she wsn't sure.

Everything went blinding white. It was hotter than the surface of the sun.

And then everything went dark and cold.

There was a ringing in her ears. It was all she heard. She tried to open her eyes but there was just...nothing. Only unending darkness. She tried to reach out, to move, but she felt nothing. Just emptiness. It was as if her limbs were being weighed down.

She tried to speak, and her mouth filled with water.

Imelda had to suppress the immediate panic that filled her soul. She reminded herself that she no longer needed to breathe, but it was difficult to fight instincts she had had as a living person. And going without breathing as a skeleton was not comfortable, but anyone could do it.

She tried to stop herself from panicking, but it didn't go well.

Was she being punished for all those years she had shunned Héctor?

Was this Hell?

Was this her Final Death?

\-------------------------------------------------

Héctor had slung the guitar around his shoulder and begun to strum out soft chords to try to encourage his familia to sing along as he walked them up the street. He did not know where they were going, only that Imelda had directed him to go this way. He decided to pass the time playing the guitar until they had some semblance of a plan. Even Julio had cracked a smile as he strummed the encouraging ballads of revolucionarios long since passed. Héctor walked at the front of the familia. Behind him, Julio and Coco held hands, walking and talking as if on a date. They were nervous for the living among them, but it was still nice to spend time with the family as Héctor strummed out his songs. The twins were just behind them; they discussed shoe designs, rambling in their own twinny way. Óscar would quip, and Felipe would banter, each finishing the other's sentences as they made choppy rapidfire dialogue together. Victoria brought up the rear, arms crossed and face wearing un unreadable expression. Héctor could tell she was worried, which had promted his Revolución music. 

Héctor stepped with the confidence of someone who had been leading the family for exactly five minutes.

So, no confidence! But he could lead a song to try to encourage la familia, couldn't he? He had lifted the spirits of his family so many times over the past nine years, and he would be damned if he stopped now.

The twins were in the middle of a heated debate about making some sort of steel-toed shoe design when there was a loud booming noise from far off.

"People are getting too crazy with the fireworks this year," commented Óscar.

"Not the first time," recalled Felipe with an eyeroll.

The whole night, fireworks had lit up the night sky on both sides of the bridge, just like they did every year. But Héctor had a bad feeling about what had just happened. This was louder, scarier. Something was wrong.

Julio felt it first; something made him halt in place. His eyes were wide with fear as he stared at the ground in front of him. Coco was yanked backward by Julio's sudden stop and the twins ran into him from behind.

Héctor looked to where he thought he had heard the booming noise, as the drop in his gut took place. He slowly began to notice a change in the atmosphere surrounding his family. He searched their faces and noticed alarmed expressions on every single one of their faces as they tried to figure out what was wrong. Héctor realized vaguely that he was missing something. Like his insides were lighter, somehow. As if someone had removed a limb from his body. No, it was more profound than that. Like someone had removed part of his soul, his life, part of the reason he was even standing there. Or even the whole reason he was standing there. Something didn't feel right.

Not that he had had much to give. As Héctor turned back, he saw Julio's horrified expression. "No puedo...no puedo sentirla. I can't feel Rosita." His wide eyes met Héctor's. "I can't feel Rosita!"

Héctor immediately understood what he meant. Before Miguel had saved Héctor's memory, before many of the living Riveras were even born, Héctor could feel ties with Coco and Imelda and everyone who remembered him, in his very soul. When people started to die who had known him, eventually the ties all went away, until even Imelda's string to his heart was severed. And only then Coco remained. Now he could feel the strings of the living Riveras because they held his memory with them.

It was too late to feel and identify the heartstrings of the deceased family members, so he didn't feel the same string being cut as Julio. But Héctor had felt something sever nonetheless. Héctor went through face after face in his mind, trying to place if someone had died or if he could feel one of them forgetting him. It was his beloved daughter's voice that stated what he feared.

"I can't feel Miguel," Coco muttered behind him. Her voice was a whisper of awe and fear. Soft, breaking, terribly fragile. "I can't feel Miguel, Papá."

Héctor reached within himself again, searching desperately. He went through every line connecting his soul to this world, searching names and faces and feelings and memories. No Miguel. "I can't either, mija," he said aloud, mind boggling to reach for some sort of excuse. "Maybe...he was blessed back?"

It was Victoria that voiced his true fears. "I don't think that's what happened, Papá Héctor," she murmured. Her arms still crossed to provide a layer of protection against the world. Her eyebrows furrowed together and her frown deepened. "We would still be able to feel him. I think something happened to Miguel. Something bad."

Héctor was not able to respond; There was another loud booming noise that rang through the air and shook the windows of the buildings surrounding his familia. 

Héctor looked the direction that the loud...eruptions, tremors had come from, remembering distinctly that that was the direction that Miguel, Rosita, and Imelda had flown with Pepita.

As if on cue, the giant green jaguar floated above one of the towers, soaring toward them at a rapid pace. Everyone seemed to relax as she approached. Maybe Imelda would be able to fill them in on what had happened.

"Wait for Imelda," Héctor instructed, "then we will figure out what happened in all this mess. Maybe she can help us find Nina and Socorro, too."

"Pepita looks...frantic," commented Victoria distractedly, watching the giant alebrije's erratic flight pattern..

"I don't see Mela," added Óscar, frown deepening in concern for his sister.

"Nobody with her," continued Felipe with dread.

"Where is Mamá?" asked Coco timidly.

Ever comment made Héctor's heart sink deeper.

Pepita's feet thudded to the cobblestone road, her back completely empty of riders. She huffed loudly, and began to mewl. Héctor had not seen Pepita so upset before, not even when she had growled at Miguel earlier this evening. Something was not right, and they needed to find out what. Héctor's heart filled with fear for his wife. 

Pepita stamped her feet, lifting her wings. She quickly whipped her backside to them, as if urging them to board her back.

A few things clicked into place very quickly for Héctor. Imelda, Rosita, and Miguel had gotten into trouble. Something--or rather someone, he thought, remembering Imelda's encounter with Ernesto--had put them in harm's way and Pepita wanted them to go with her back to wherever the trouble had begun.

Héctor did not want to risk the family's lives if whatever they were about to face could cost them their afterlives, too. But the living people among them were still in danger as long as they were spirits.

He still needed to figure out what had happened to Rosita and Miguel.

A plan formed in Héctor's head, the puzzle pieces rearranging themselves the best they could in a short time span. He was an artist, not a plan maker. The planning usually fell to Imelda, but since she was not here and he was the patriarch, he needed to put his foot down and lead la familia. He searched everyone's eyes as everything fell into place in his mind.

"Óscar, Felipe, you and I will accompany Pepita to find out what she needs us to see." The twins crossed their arms skeptically, but Héctor did not leave room for conflict. He turned to Victoria and Coco, looking at them in turn. Héctor thought a moment, thinking about the explosion. The department had authority figures, a thousand eyes, so many witnesses. He looked up, finding a clock tower. It was already one in the morning. "I don't like how this has gone so far," he added worriedly. "Coco, Victoria, you will return to the Department, in case Nina or Miguel or Socorro return. Someone needs to be there to bless our niños home." The girls nodded, Coco placing a hand out to steady Victoria. "Julio, I need you to check the living hacienda for signs of Miguel or Socorro, in case Imelda was able to bless those two home. The ofrenda is set once again." Julio nodded, wringing his hat in his hands.

Héctor could see questions swimming in everyone's eyes, but they did not have time. "We need move quickly," he said, looking toward where he knew the explosions had come from. They were going to dive straight into danger, and he knew it. "We don't have much time left."

The twins made pointed looks at each other and sighed. Of everyone in the family, the twins had been the most difficult to ease into having Héctor around, and he couldn't blame them. They had been there when Héctor had abandoned Coco and Imelda to go sing with Ernesto. They were very protective of Imelda, and they had been the ones to threaten that if he ever hurt Imelda again they would not hesitate to throw him out the door. They had been even more suspicious of him when Coco died, but seeing her positive interactions with him had eased their suspicions a little.

Héctor could feel their scrutiny now, but it was not nearly as bad as it had been for the first year he had lived with them, when he had to build their trust from the ground up.

Pepita growled again. She was worried about someone, and Héctor had a feeling it was Imelda she wanted to hunt down first and firemost.

"All right, Peptia, we're going," Héctor soothed. He handed Coco his beloved guitar before climbing onto the winged jaguar's back. The twins barely had time to scramble aboard before Pepita took off.

"Be careful, everyone!" Héctor called down to his familia. But he had a feeling they would probably be the safest ones. Coco and Victoria would be surrounded by people to aid them. Julio would only face the danger of not being able to return by morning, but as long as he executed the same caution he had used for the past fourty years, he would be fine.

Pepita immediately banked, but she did not head in the direction that Héctor was expecting. They were headed away from the explsion site. As they rose above the city, he glanced in the direction he had heard the booms coming from. A trail of smoke had begun to lift from the direction of Shantytown. Héctor's mind was temporarily clouded over by memories of the decades he had spent there.

He had made--and lost--many friends while dwelling with the nearly-forgotten. He had made the executive decision to donate the mansion he had inherited to his forgotten family, to ease their suffering to the end. He had been one of them once, and he had not enjoyed the feeling of his body shimmering, to put it mildly. He wondered silently if anyone still lived there and what had happened. He was grateful that Pepita had not headed in that direction, until she landed harshly near an alleyway in a more crime-riddled part of the city.

Pepita landed gracefully in the alleyway, but her mannerisms were panicked. She stared hard down the alley, but she was too big to go through it. She began to scratch the builidng face, mewling. The three men hopped off of her back, watching her for a moment.

Héctor was no stranger to her behavior. She had found something. He began to tread down the alley, but he had a gut feeling he was going to find something terrible. "Miguel? Rosita? Imelda?" He called softly, not wanting to alert anyone but not wanting to let his family be missed either.

The twins inched behind him. Héctor could probably search the narrow alleyway by himself, but he had a feeling they were there for strength in numbers more than anything else. If they were attacked for some reason, he was glad to have them there. Imelda's nerves from earlier that day had been correct, and he hated the fact that he had no idea where she was.

Héctor passed by some decaying boxes, some garbage bags, old shoes, a piece of shimmery purple cloth, some bricks...

Purple cloth?

He turned back toward the pile of rubbish and stared hard at the piece of fabric. It was the exact same shade of magenta that Miguel's necktie to his charro suit had been. "Miguel?" He whispered, very afraid of what he might find. The space was too small to contain the boy...in one piece.

A box in the alley fell over behind him. The twins shot straight into kung-fu attacking positions, while Héctor jumped halfway to heaven at the noise. Once their nerves had settled, the three men continued to investigate. It was probably some small cat-alebrije or something combined with a street rat; Héctor felt silly for being so paranoid. But then again, the box had moved almost right after he called Miguel's name again.

Another box fell as Héctor watched the pile.

Héctor quickly tore through the garbage pile, before he came to a box at the back of the stack. He desperately hoped that even though it was small he could feasably wedge a living human being inside. It would be cramped, but...

He tore back the top flap of the box and gasped.

Inside, he found the pruple fabric of Imelda's dress.

He pulled back the other flap of the box, and found several charred bones, and the familiar amethyst necklace she kept around her neck.

"Imelda," he choked out. He carefully lifted the dress and the contents up and set it gently beside him. The bones began assembling themselves into something that resembled his wife. Well, mostly.

Her skull was missing.

"Imelda, where are you!" Héctor called, no longer caring if anyone heard him. He began to call out louder, voice tight with panic, when a hand grabbed his arm. When he looked back, it was Imelda's hand on him. He gently touched her fingertips with his own, hoping against hope that she could feel that it was him, it was her husband, there to rescue her.

"Where are you?" He asked her, even though he knew she couldn't hear him.

She must have sensed him, because she used her hands to make the shape of a box. She then mimed the shape of a head on her shoulders, placing the pantomimed head into the box.

"Another box? Who would do this?" He demanded, voice showing anger he rarely let out. "What do they have to gain?"

Wasting our time, he thought. They had used his wild goose chase of finding Imelda's body to distract the alebrije and make sure Héctor couldn't find Miguel or Socorro. He cursed himself and threw the empty box at the wall in anger.

"It's probably Ernesto," Óscar glowered, putting a hand on Imelda's back like he always did to let her know of his presense. She reached out and found his face, her shoulders relaxing a tad. She then blindly reached out beside him, hands searching.

"Or a crazy fan of his," added Felipe, as he moved toward Imelda and held a hand on her shoulder. His face scrunched in anger. 

"That--that--" Héctor looked away from Imelda made the longest list of swear words he had ever issued in his entire life. He kicked a box over, sending rubbish in every which direction.

"Damn," Felipe whispered in approval.

After he had had his fit, Héctor gently took Imelda's hand in his own. He helped his wife's body (was that weird to say?) walk over to Pepita and held her hand out to the alebrije. He knew she probably had Imelda's scent on lock, but maybe this was the attacker's scent would be traceable as well.

Pepita wiggled her back feet and stamped her front legs. He hurriedly helped Imelda onto the back of the beast, followed closely by Felipe and Óscar, who held tightly to their sister lest she fall off. Imelda's body must have recognized where it was because then her hands clamped tight to the fur and to Héctor once she found him.

Héctor sent Pepita into the air and she began flying again. He was dismayed that it had raken them so long to find Imelda. It was already morning and who knew what time they had left.

Pepita banked hard and flew directly to Shantytown, where the smoke pillar still rose into the sky.

"I knew it," Óscar said, dread filling them all.

"Always has to be a show, doesn't it?" Felipe griped, holding tighter to Imelda. 

Pepita banked harshly over Shantytown, but there wasn't really anywhere to land. She hovered over a spot where she thought Imelda might be, but she was getting restless. It was as if she knew the time constraints and how valuable she was to this issue.

"Relajate," he said, then guided her to a rooftop from which she could easily take off and land on. He jumped off the alebrije before her feet had touched the ground. 

"I'll be back soon!" He called to them. With my wife in tow, he thought.

Héctor headed towards where the smoke had originated from. He had caught a glimpse of it when they were in the air, but now that he could see it up close, he saw the crater that had been the house he had lived in for decades, and the two shacks on either side had been levelled, most of their remains either sunk into the bay or floating tiredly in the water. Planks of wood smouldered, some pieces of wood still on fire. His tarnished escape plans, collected valuables and junk, general memories were scattered everywhere, or otherwise completely destroyed. 

He reached the edge of the crater and surveyed the mess that had been his home a little less than a decade ago. He prayed and prayed that Pepita was right more than anything else in the world. Héctor could make out murky shapes in the water, but he could see little else. She was here. He could feel it, in his bones, in his heart strings. His wife was here.

"I'm coming, Mela."

Without hestitaion, Héctor dove into the water and swam into its depths. He couldn't see a thing. Couldn't hear anything. He began to feel the floor for anything that resembled his wife's skull, but couldn't navigate. It was just too dark.

Then he got an idea.

He propelled himself to the surface using his feet to push off the floor. He began searching the debris of his home, looking for a specific item. He had borrowed the flashlight a couple of years back, and neglected to return it to its owner. Thankfully, the orange-handled flashlight floated amongst the wrecked house easily. Héctor picked the plastic flashlight up out of the water and shook it against his palm twice, praying that the water or the explosion had not destroyed its batteries.

He clicked the button, and it immediately came to life, flickering slightly. It was dying, for sure, but it would do. Héctor dove down again, not even bothering to intake a breath as he no longer needed to breathe.

He saw the chest almost immediately. Already he could tell that it had been put there recently. Héctor set the dying flashlight down on the sandy bottom of the little cove, facing the trunk. Using a nearby rock, he smashed the lock off of it and opened the lid.

Immediately he saw a blur of dark hair. Héctor wasted no time in gathering her up and springing back up to the surface.

He put her gently up on the doorway of the house and then flung himself over. Imelda's face was obscured by hair, so he moved it out of her eyes to speak to her.

"Ay, mi amor, I'm so sorry I got you into this," he began murmuring, whispering as he kissed her skull on the top of her head.

She stared at him, wide-eyed. He waited for her to respond, but she only made the same frightened expression.

"Lo siento, Imelda. Let me get to the rest of you."

He walked out of the home, with his wife's skull cradled gently in his arms. She had not yet spoken, possibly due to shock. He felt that she would feel a little better when she was herself again. She had to be completely disoriented.

Pepita spotted them and began to jump up and down, making the twins clutch tightly to her.

Héctor made his way toward the winged beast and climbed up the set of stairs leading to the building beside her. He leapt across the buillding gap and landed on his feet. Gently he set Imelda down and helped the rest of her down off the alebrije's back. Héctor helped her stand upright and then gently replaced her soaking skull.

She shook herself out, until everything snapped into place silently. Still, though, she had that forlorn expression on her face. She brushed aside her soaking hair. When they had last seen her, it had been in a braid, tied behind her neck. Now it was unfurled and soaked.

"Imelda, mi amor, are you all right?" He asked. Normally by now she would have scolded him for giving in to wasting time or smacked him with a shoe. 

She stared hard at him for a moment. There was anger and hurt there, but she wasn't saying anything. "Imelda...?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, now we know what happened to Imelda, and what's going on with Héctor's squad, but...who am I missing? Hmm. 
> 
> Wonder what's going on with Miguel?
> 
> What about little Socorro?
> 
> Don't own Coco, never have, except on a legally bought DVD.


	13. Estupidez y valentía son primos

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stupidity and Bravery are cousins

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't like the idea of Rosa and Miguel in a fight. My sister and I got into all sorts of scrapes when we were kids but she is my best friend.
> 
> Miguel was kind of a d*** to her.
> 
> I may be adding more trigger tags after this chapter, just in case any of you are triggered by things.

Victoria and Coco stayed in the waiting area of the Department of Family Reunions, as per Héctor's orders. They held hands and consoled each other, theorised on what had happened to Rosita, Imelda, and Miguel.

Victoria tightened her grip on Coco's hand. "I think...I think Tía Rosita was forgotten, mamá." She looked up to her mother, expecting her to refute the news, but Coco did not say anything. Instead she breathed deeply, listening to her daughter patiently. They only ever felt like this when someone died, after all.

Coco had only been here for nine years, but she had known so many people who had passed on since she arrived. Friends if the family, church members, extended relatives, the like. She knew hwat it meant when your hesrt strings were severed.

Victoria continued. "I think...I think Miguel might have...he might have..." her shoulder hunched as the thought crawled into her brain. "He might have joined us," she whispered.

"I think it's more than that, mija." Coco's tired eyes finally met her daughter's. "I don't think he just died. I think he was forgotten completely." Her voice was numb. Ever since they had felt the ties to Eosita sever, she had looke,d shell-shocked. Like a husk of a woman. Her eyes wide and blank as she stared into space. Wringing her hands nervously. Mouth slightly agape all evening. She had lost a sister.

Victoria knew the feeling. When she died, she had felt nothing but guilt for leaving Elena behind. She mourned for years over her own desth before her family was able to show the shimmer of good that being dead could be. But Mamá was still in the throes of her grief.

As far as Victoria knew, her mamá had not had heart strings severed like the ones they had felt tonight. But it didn't take a genius to know that they were all affected by whatever had happened to Miguel. She did not like the idea that the second the feeling rent her bones they heard the loud explosion.

It was too much of a coincidence to deny the fact that the explosion and Miguel and Rosita's existence were connected. Now their fears were linked to Imelda aswell. It was only logical to link her with the other two as she had been with them when...whatever it was transpired.

"I hate waiting," Victoria muttered bitterly, pulling away from her mamá.

Coco frowned. "A mí también. Me too."

Victoria sighed in frustration. "This is horrid. I'm going to go see if they know anything about this." She stood abruptly, leaving her mamá in her chair. Victoria was anxious. Normally stoic or skeptical--unless Héctor was around to coax laughs out of her--she fiddled with her thumb bones, running them along the lengths of her phalanges as she waited behind several other patrons to get a number.

It took a few minutes, but she finally got one, along with a form to fill out. Frustration filled her being as she looked over the forms. There were so many blanks to fill in. She felt her frustration fill her to the brim as she angrily yanked a clipboard off the stack and a pen out of the cup beside the blank form pile. The clerk watched her with bored indifference; she probably saw this behavior and frustration all Día de los Muertos. Victoria realized she was not the only one who looked angry or worried, but at least no Riveras had destroyed a computer yet.

Victoria took the time to fill in the form, putting in information for Rosita first. She decided with fierce denial that Miguel would be sent to them if he arrived in the Tierra de los Muertos if he had died. There was no reason to suspect that he was dead.

She tapped her pen against the clipboard as she tried to remember what year Tía Rosita was born. Mamá gently reached across and tapped her wrist. "1923, mija."

"Gracias," Victoria grumbled, scribbling in the number. "I'm sorry I forgot," she whispered, filling in the rest of the information.

"It's all right." Coco stared off into the waiting room, the light catching the color in her cheekbones. They sat in silence for a while, until Victoria's number was called.

Victoria looked at her mamá uncertainly, before standing up and bringing the form back to the desk. The clerk took the sheet of paper boredly, and briefly scanned the form. "Missing skeleton?" She quirked a browbone.

Victoria felt suddenly defensive, clenching her fists. "Yes. We have not seen her in several hours and I felt...something, like being forgotten, attached to her. I actually think I felt it for two of my family members."

"What was the other family member's name?" the clerk asked, her tone never changing pitch, her face not showing any other emotion beside the cocked browbone that returned to its neutral position.

Victoria closed her eyes, furrowing her browbone, as a sigh left her. "Miguel Rivera," she responded finally, opening one eye to survey the reaction of the skeleton before her.

The skeleton squinted. "Sounds familiar. When did this suspect die?" She asked, turning toward her computer to type the name into the database.

"He didn't," she answered.

The clerk frowned deeply. "This system is only for la Tierra de los Muertos, señora. If your fsmily member is alive, we can not help you here."

Victoria felt like ripping out her hair as her anxiety and frustration got worse. "He's still living. He was here a minute ago. My sobrino got himself cursed again, and he was wandering this place when he went missing and I felt my tía being forgotten." Yep, she was about to go Imelda on this woman. She could feel it.

"Cursed?" the woman asked skeptically, quirking her brow again.

"Yes, cursed." Victoria slammed her fist onto the counter. "He was cursed and arrived here earlier this evening. I want to know if he is still here or if my abuela was able to send him home." Her tone gradually got more angry, got less civil, and became much more gutteral with each word. "Now can you help me, please?" She asked, tacking the last word onto the end of her sentence as an afterthought.

The woman had finally started showing some emotion, but it was definitely not related to her job, and far more relevant to the woman standing over her desk with the frightening brown eyes glistening with anger. The clerk leaned back in her chair, gripping the handles with wide eyes. Her chest lifted rapidly with each frightened breath she took in.

Victoria backed away, putting her hands on her hips. She had gone too far. She had gone Imelda on this woman. Gone as Imelda as you could go without hitting something with a shoe, that is. Victoria faced away from the woman, taking deep breaths to settle her mental state.

Her nonexistent heart had practically been hammering all night. From the moment the buzzer had blocked Imelda from crossing the barrier, to Miguel and Socorro appearing in the Department, to the xolo making Nina and Socorro chase after him, to the loud explosion they had heard from far off, to Pepita's return with no riders...she was filled with dread. It was too much.

Victoria looked off into the waiting room, where Coco was eyeing her farefully. Victoria normally did not want anyone's help, but now she found herself missing her mother's comforting hand on her shoulder. She wanted her mamá. She wanted her familia. But she couldn't have them without the help of the clerk.

"I'm sorry," Victoria muttered, turning around. Her face sunk with regret as she gripped her left elbow with her right arm. Her eyes met the woman's in shame. "I'm just worried about my familia."

The clerk furrowed her browbone in distrust. Victoria thought that everyone who worked in thr Department of Family Reunions had heard of the Rivera antics, but this clerk seemed to be new. Victoria had never seen her face around here before. But then again she did not come here very often. She only declared her gifts each year and then returned home. She would drink her cola and watch the sunrise, thinking about her life and death.

"I've heard that before," the clerk interrupted her thoughts with an eyeroll. She typed into her computer, but before Victoria could retort to the dig, the clerk pressed a key on her keyboard and an obnoxiously loud fax machine came to life with a humming noise.

It slowly printed a sheet of paper with a perforated edge. The clerk watched it print boredly before tearing it off the roll with uncharacteristically slow actions. She looked up pointedly before handing the sheet of paper to Victoria.

Victoria took the slip in her hands, fingers shaking. If she were alive, she would have been sweating profusely.

SUBJECT: MIGUEL RIVERA  
DOD: N/A  
STATUS: LIVING

UPDATE 20181102: SUBJECT WAS SEEN IN TIERRA DE LOS MUERTOS THIS EVENING DESPITE BEING ALIVE. DUE TO SAFETY CONCERNS ANY INFORMATION REGARDING THE WEARABOUTS OF SUBJECT MUST BE REPORTED TO AUTHORITIES. 

Victoria's eyes remained on the word "LIVING" beside his status, as relief flooded through her. Sp he had not died. She read through the next part, which seemed to be a run-down of everything that had occurred the last time Miguel had visited them as a young boy. That was over and done with; she wanted to know what was going on now. She continued reading the slip of paper.

UPDATE 20261102: SUBJECT WAS SEEN IN TIERRA DE LOS MUERTOS THIS EVENING. DUE TO SAFETY CONCERNS ANY INFORMATION REGARDING WHEREABOUTS OF SUBJECT MUST BE REPORTED TO AUTHORITIES. 8:52 PM.

UPDATE 20261102: SUBJECT HAS RETURNED TO TIERRA DE LOS VIVOS. NO FURTHER ACTION IS REQUIRED AT THIS TIME. 10:21 PM.

UPDATE 20261102: SUBJECT WAS SEEN IN TIERRA DE LOS MUERTOS THIS EVENING. DUE TO SAFETY CONCERNS ANY INFORMATION REGARDING WHEREABOUTS OF SUBJECT MUST BE REPORTED TO AUTHORITIES. 10:25 PM.

UPDATE 20261102: SUBJECT HAS RETURNED TO TIERRA DE LOS VIVOS. NO FURTHER ACTION IS REQUIRED AT THIS TIME. 1:31 AM.

UPDATE: SUBJECT HAS RETURNED TO TIERRA DE LOS MUERTOS. DUE TO SAFETY CONCERNS ANY INFORMARION REGARDING THE WHEREABOUTS OF SUBJECT MUST BE REPORTED TO AUTHORITIES. 2:32 AM.

Victoria's head swam with the numbers. Had that much time passed while Miguel was here? What had he been doing this whole time? 2:32 AM...he had returned back to the Tierra de los Muertos? Victoria looked at the clock overhead. It was three in the morning. Miguel had returned only a little while ago.

"Why would he come back?" she demanded, gripping the paper with suddenly trembling hands. She looked at the clerk incredulously. "He was back! He was fine!" Her voice was getting higher-pitched with her frantic gestures. She tried to rationalize why on earth Miguel would return after being sent back.

For the same reason he came in the first place, a part of her rationalized. For his family. He was going to stay here until Socorro returned home. Her breath felt shallow and rapid, her eyes darting back and forth as she pieced it together. He came back to save Socorro. Maybe he had found her.

Her thoughts went to the explosion and Tía Rosita, and Pepita's empty back. Or maybe he came back to help Tía Rosita and Mamá Imelda.

Her thoughts were interrupted when the clerk poked her with another piece of paper. "I have the other one, for Rosita," she murmured, her voice taking on a sorrowful tone. "I'm sorry," she whispered, as Victoria took the slip pf paper out of her hands.

SUBJECT: ROSITA RIVERA  
DOD: 19730219

Victoria's heart dropped. Or it would have if it was still beating. Her eyes read the statement at least five times before she was able to comprehend the meaning. Her wail of anguish was heard throughout the whole department.

STATUS: FORGOTTEN

\--------------------------------------

Miguel floated through the darkness. After the bright light he had erupted in, it was peaceful. Calm. Quiet. Being in nothingness was good. Painless. Everything he had expected the Final Death to be. Except...there was an unwelcome noise around him.

Ding. Ding. Ding. Ding.

It continued to permeate the space, taking away from the surreal beauty that he was experiencing. So this was death? Slipping into the soothing darkness. He tried to absorb himself in the peace of it again, but that wretched noise kept interrupting his consciousness.

Ding. Ding. Ding. 

Every ding brought him closer to what he had been before. He didn't want to go back. Even now as he moved closer and closer to where he had been, pain began to filll him again. He did not want to go back.

Ding.

Miguel opened his eyes. He could see stars clearly overhead. The only light came from the gentle flickering of candles all around him. They gently shone light on the flower petals he lay in. Tombstones stood erect and proud in their places all around him, marking the people they represented well. His head pounded the moment he opened his eyes, but it was different from when he had been in Nina's presense. He felt the thudding deep in his skull with each heartbeat.

Funny; he had imagined that being dead and then immediately being forgotten would be less...corporeal. 

Miguel pushed himself up, groaning with the effort. He realized dumbly that his cheek stung, and his hand came away bloody when he touched it.

Nina had done a number on him.

It took him a while, but he eventually understood; with a jolt Miguel finally realized that he was not dead. He had been sent back by Tía Rosita to the real world in the knick of time. She was in the blast when Nina struck him. He hobbled to his feet, awed at how badly his body hurt. His shoulder was bleeding through a gash in his charro suit. His cheek stung. One of his shoes was broken. Vaguely he realized his entire body was sore, down to the bones. It felt as if someone had gutted him.

He leaned against the tombstone, and looked around. Someone had been tending to the candles; they were lit again. Which meant someone was awake, waiting for him to come home.

Ding. Ding.

Miguel reached into his back pocket subconsciously and unearthed his phone. He had not touched it since he had tried to rummage in his pockets for something Pepita could sniff, about a million years ago this evening. It seemed like a thousand texts were flooding the screen now that he had signal, from different members of his family. They were worried about him.

WHERE ARE YOU? Abuelita had demanded.

MIJO WHAT'S GOING ON. Papá. Mierda. Mamá must have called him. He was probably worried sick.

There were several angry texts from his mamá. CALL ME WHEN YOU GET HOME.  
I AM WAITING FOR SOCORRO.

DUDE BE CAREFUL. Abel. Ha. Too late to be careful.

Mamá thought he could take care of himself. Abel seemed to think he had a choice in whether he was careful. If only they knew how little control he had over this situation. He had only meant to go in there to rescue Socorro, not to get his existence erased. Miguel leaned against the tombstone again as he read every text. Mostly people were worried about him. He got a couple from the little twins from Tío Berto's phone, asking about getting texts in the Tierra de los Muertos. Obviously he would have to let them down gently and tell them that the Land of the Dead was in fact, a dead zone.

Miguel locked his phone, too preoccupied to answer anyone. His thoughts went to Imelda and Rosita. Rosita had obviously been struck by the blast. But there was still a chance she was around, right? He had survived; why couldn't she? Maybe Nina had shown some restaint. He held on to the sliver of hope that Tía Rosita was not, in fact, forgotten. He refused to accept that as fact until he saw her vanish himself.

Then there was Imelda. He wondered if she was all right, or if the blast had struck her, too. He needed to know if she was okay.

Socorro was still out there, possibly with Ernesto. The realization that Nina had talked with the disgraced mariachi got wheels turning in Miguel's head; Ernesto had probably convinced Nina to come join him after she had gotten herself cursed somehow. He had lured her in and manipulated her, so that he could exact revenge on the Riveras.

He needed to get back to Socorro. He started to move forward, but his motions halted. A thought entered his mind, making him freeze with fear. When he went back, he would end up inside what was left of the shack. What if Nina was still there? 

She would obliterate him.

Miguel did not have time to process the love of his life destroying him for long; footsteps echoed in the now-empty cemetery. Moments later, Rosa appeared with Abel, Manny, and Benny in tow. The twins took one look at Miguel's scorched attire and whispered, "holy shit," in unison, to which Abel responded by bopping them both on the back of the head.

Rosa's eyes went wide. "Dios mío, Miguel, what the hell happened?"

Miguel rolled his shoulder, trying to ease the tension in it. What could he say? They absolutely adored Nina. He wasn't ready to accept what had happened himself, let alone squander the precious memories his familia had of his beloved novia. They had only been laughing and telling each other sweet fantasies about the future just hours before. He wasn't ready to tarnish her reputation, not til he figured out what had happened in the past few hours to change her mind. He wanted to know what exactly Ernesto had said to her to make her turn on him, to erase their relationship. To erase him.

"It was a witch," he said carefully. "She threw a curse at me I couldn't avoid. She sided with Ernesto. They hit me and Tía Rosita with the blast. Imedla was nearby. I need to get to them to see if they are all right."

"A witch?" asked Rosa skeptically.

Miguel was not in the mood to deal with her doubting him. "Yes, a witch. Now if you'll excuse me, I need to go." His voice cracked as he spoke; he felt drained. He made to move forward but he staggered.

Abel grabbed his arm gently to stop him from falling. "Miguel, hold on. Should you be going back? You're in really rough shape." His eyes were filled with concern for his cousin. "I mean this in the nicest way possible, dude: you look like shit."

Rosa nodded silent affirmation, frown lines in her forehead deepening with worry.

Miguel tried not to remember their last conversation as he looked down at himself. He was indeed a mess. Scrapes and bruising everywhere; matted filthy hair. He was starving and traumatized. And he hadn't even BEGUN to process how he felt about his novia teaming up with a known murderer against his family, regardless of her family history.

Not to mention the fact that she had kept the fact that she was a witch a secret from him.

But, he rationalized, he had not told her about her adventures in the Tierra de los Muertos. He had made a promise to his parents that his story would not leave the Rivera circle.

Maybe Nina was in a similar situation? Bound to secrecy by her family for the safety of others.

"You're right," he finally relented. "I at least need to eat something."

Abel put an arm around his cousin and led him on a slow journey to the Rivera hacienda. The living Riveras who were still awake sat worried at the table outside. Miguel could see Dante at his mother's feet but he did not have the time to process the xolo being there before Abel and Rosa began to escort him away from the gate. They snuck Miguel around to the shop entrance so he could get in without causing a fuss. The twins decided to be the distraction. Which wasn't hard, considering they had been non-believers on the Día de los Muertos matters. Manny and Benny bombarded the adults with questions about the dead, about the holiday, about Catholicism, about anything pertaining to religion and death. Rosa snickered as she heard Abuelita stumble to tell the difference between two different Aztec gods and if they should believe in any of them.

Miguel traded his destroyed charro suit for a denim jacket, plaid button-up and black pants, along with his standard Rivera botas. He threw the charred mariachi suit into a bin; He didn't even want to think about mending it. He took a quick shower and slapped bandages on his worst scrapes, including his cheek and his shoulder. Miguel looked at his frelection for the first time in hours; he had bags under his eyes from getting no sleep, and the bandage on his cheek made him look like an escaped hospital patient. He put on his brave face and walked back to his cousins.

Rosa had slapped together a plate of food for him. She and Abel met him at the entrance to the shop. Miguel ate as quickly as he could, wrapping everything in a tortilla and headed back to the cementerio.

He was going to bring Socorro and Nina home, or he was going to die trying. He was going to convince Nina to come back with him so they could work on a solution. He would make it up to her for hurting her family.

Miguel was convinced. He was too deeply involved in this to give up. He would not stand by while Ernesto manipulated nis novia. He would not just wait here for someone to find and rescue Socorro.

Miguel finished his mole-turned burrito and faced his cousins. The shower had helped immensely; he felt a million times better after he had washed himself and changed into different clothes. The hot water had done wonders for his aching body. The slight ache in his bones was still there, but it was much better regardless. He finally felt like he could concentrate after putting some food in his body.

"Thank you," he murmured earnestly to Abel and Rosa. With the two words he hoped to convey that he appreciated them for helping him, and that they finally believed him. That he wasn't alone. He hoped it conveyed that he loved them. That he kept them dear to him. His thanks came from the bottom of his heart. His eyes locked with Rosa's, finally acknowledging the hurt he had placed there. "I'm so sorry," he murmured softly, eyes tinted with a glimmer of shame.

Rosa nodded. "I know. Me too."

Miguel hugged her. The words didn't seem to contain enough syllables for his regrets. He wasn't just apologizing for what he had said earlier. He was apologizing for what had happened, and what could happen of he did not succeed. Those words did not convey enough of his emotions. They did not convey exactly the kind of regret he felt. But if something happened to him...he hoped against hope that it would be enough to ease her spirits. The second he returned, if he returned, Miguel would make it up to her.

Abel wrapped his arms around the two, allowing for the moment to get a little mushy. They all knew there was the slight possibility that Miguel wouldn't come back. Finally they pulled apart.

"Be back by sunrise," Abel commanded, showing the stern side he rarely used.

Miguel nodded. "I will. I'll bring Socorro home. She should be near the ofrenda room when she returns."

"Be careful, Miguel," murmured Rosa. The wounds from their fight were still fresh, but this was bigger than their pride. "Bring Nina back too."

He smiled. "I will." He had no idea how in the world he would do that, but he would try. And if he died--his thoughts flashed to the fireball that had struck him. He might not even appear in the Tierra de los Muertos. He might just vanish for good, forever.

He wouldn't explain that to his cousins; there was no reason to worry them. And after seeing his scrapes, he didn't want them to have yet another reason to make him stay back.

Miguel turned around, facing the tombstones. He needed to go back, but he was afraid. His mind flashed to when he was just a boy in the Tierra de los Muertos for the first time. Héctor had given him his blessing and sent him home. Even shimmering with the Final Death, Miguel had been saved by his tatarabuelo. Miguel would rely on Héctor to get him home this time.

Miguel popped the lid off the paint can one final time. There was less than a centimeter of paint left, but it was enough. Miguel took one last look at his cousins, who smiled somewhat reassuringly at him. He crossed himself and poured the last few drops of paint onto Héctor's headstone. He needed to get back and find out what happened to Mamá Imelda and Tía Rosita, and bring Socorro back. He needed to convince Nina to drop Ernesto and come back with him. It was already after two in the morning; he couldn't let this drag on any longer.

Miguel vanished in a whirlwind of petals, but they moved much slower than they did at the beginning of the holiday, as if they too were getting tired. He braced himself to appear in the smouldering remains of his Papá Héctor's abandoned shack.

His thoughts were instead thrown into chaos when he was immediately submerged from head to toe in water.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ROSITA NOOOO
> 
> Miguel. My. Boy. Why. Are. You. This. Way.
> 
> I really like the idea of the security in the TDLM getting tighter on keeping tabs on everyone. Like, a whole-ass child snuck in one year. Well...Now half his family is there, but I digress.
> 
> Don't own Coco :) just happen to thoroughly enjoy it like a mofo


	14. El pasado y el presente

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The past and the present

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I want to let you know that this chapter was not supposed to exist at all. So i pulled it out of nowhere last minute and decided to add it to the mix. I really like how it turned out, however, so I hope you like it :)
> 
> WARNING: there are explicit things in this chapter pertaining to sexual harrassment. This is the extent that this goes in this story, but if you think I should change the tags I absolutely effing will

Mexico City, 1939

Ernesto de la Cruz sat with his entourage, an arm around the women to his left and right. He remembered laughing at something one of the men in his group had said. It made everyone chuckle with recognition. Times had changed so much for Ernesto in the last eighty or so years that he could not remember. He had only kept up with politics that were relative to him, and now he could not remember the joke.

The wee hours of the morning trickled in. The group had stayed well past their welcome in the restaurant. At least, they had stayed past closing time, several hours over. The busboys and wait staff did not mind, for the most part. Here was Ernesto de la Cruz, the greatest singer in all of Mexican history! They were more than willing to take care of a celebrity, especially if he tipped them well.

And he did. Ernesto left behind a stack of bills and he and his entourage left the long-since closed restaurant. The air was chilly, he remembered. It was a cold February morning when he met Lucia.

The girls he had on either arm tipsily walked into their accomodations for the night, giving him sly looks over their shoulders, with just a hint of suggestion. He smiled at them; he absolutely would be joining at least one of them. Or both, if he wanted. He had the world at his fingertips. He could do whatever he wanted. He walked them to the front door of the hotel, just as a gentleman should always walk a woman home.

The girls disappeared into the building, followed by the gentlemen Ernesto had been entertaining. It was likely that the gentelmen wanted to continue the party in their rooms, but Ernesto could sense that he was going to be done soon. Tiredness weighed in his bones.

He remained outside and stared at the moon overhead. It glistened a soft white and illuminated the streeet. The lamps had been turned off long ago, but he could see perfectly because of the moonlight.

He remembered thinking about the girls, and then hearing a shriek. A shriek so filled with terror it made his heart pound.

Ernesto frantically looked around. Trying to find the source, but he could not.

Scream again, he begged the voice silently. He went still, breath shallow and light so her couod hear. Scream again. So I can help you.

The shriek echoed again down the street. Without missing a beat, Ernesto began to run toward it, away from the hotel. A woman was in trouble, and he intended to help her. He had been raised as a gentleman, after all. He would never leave a woman waiting for help.

Ernesto sprinted, his breaths coming in and out at a rapid pace. His footfalls made echoes in the empty street. He came up to where he thought he had heard the noise coming from, and froze. In an alleyway, he saw two forms. One was big, and obviously male. The other was a petite female, lying on the ground. They were locked in a struggle of power, and it did not look like the female was winning.

"Hey! Let her go!" Ernesto cried. He had been no stranger to violence. He had been in a scrape or two while on the road, and he would be damned if he had had his last one. A man needed to protect what was his, and needed to stand for what he believed in. 

The figure looked up, but did not stop clamping onto the woman's arms. Her eyes met Ernesto's in the dark, and he saw the relief flood her vision.

"If you wait you can have some too," the man sneered. 

Ernesto made a face. "Not interested," he said casually, taking a step toward the young girl and her aggressor. He glazed past what the man was implying. He was not a bad guy. He refused to be the bad guy.

The man cocked an eyebrow. "Very well then." The girl struggled, and he brought his hand back to smack her.

Ernesto was quick, snatching the man's wrist out of thin air. "I don't believe you heard me, hombre. I said, let her go." His voice took on a venom he rarely used. God it felt good to fight again. He could feel the first punch coming.

"I have no intention of doing that," replied the man coolly. "I wanted to, uh, walk the young lady home."

Ernesto gripped the attacker's wrist tighter, before looking pointedly down at the girl again. "Is this your home?" Ernesto asked her.

She seeemed startled by the question. The alley, her home? What on earth? She shook her head 'no' in tiny frantic movements. "No. No, it's not," she whispered.

Ernesto's eyes met the man's again. "There we have it. Allow me to accompany the young lady to her casa. Your services are no longer required." In one graceful movement, he pulled back his free hand and punched the man straight in the jaw. He fell down, surprised at the motion, smacking his head on the ground.

He was out cold.

The woman stared for several moments. Ernesto had seen the look on her face many times. He could sense her admiration and fondlness of him, and then recognition. "You're Ernesto de la Cruz," she realized dumbly. Her mouth agape.

Ernesto finally looked her over. She looked like she could be no older than sixteen. Hair messy, but had probably been tied up nicely if the crumpled ribbon could be any indicator of that. The front of her dress had been torn. Everything was covered, but it wasn't...proper to be as exposed as she was now in public. He frowned and pulled off his jacket, handing it to her.

"Are you all right, señorita?" he asked her. She trembled as she wrapped the jacket around herself.

The girl stood, nodding her head shakily. "I think so." She looked at the man before them. He groaned in his unsconsciousness. Before Ernesto could do anything, she stepped forward and kicked him hard in the side.

"Hijo de puta," she muttered, before turning back to Ernesto. "What are you doing out in the streets at three in the morning?" she asked him.

He chuckled, seeing she seemed to be all right. "I could ask you the same thing, señorita...?"

"Luciana. You can call me Lucia, though." She winked at him. "I make it a point to be on a first-name basis with my rescuers."

He chuckled. She was half his age. And despite the fact that he had been with younger women before, he didn't feel...comfortable with this one. Not after what had almost trasnpired. She was cute but he could not engage in affairs with her. She deserved to be wooed, to be romanced. To be loved. Respected.

She sensed his hesitstion. She chuckled nervously. "I'm sorry. I just...I have had a strange evening," she whispered, looking down at the man on the ground. "I wasn't intending on being out so late. I just....lost track of time."

Ernesto knew too well of early-morning walks home. The night from eighteen years played back in his mind for aome reason. He hadn't thought of it in a long time, what with being so busy. But now, there were no lights, no shows, no women, just this lost young girl who barely counted as a woman, who needed a savior. And he had stepped forward.

"Can I walk you home?" he offered. Genuinely. He wasn't offering sex, or the like. He felt very protective of her, he realized.

She sensed this, he could tell. She nodded shyly, wrapping her arm in his elbow as he led her to her house. A gentleman should always walk a woman home.

Senesto and Lucia spent that morning chatting and getting to know each other. Ernesto soon found out that Lucia was a witch, and asked her millions of questions about that. She promised him that she would find a way torepay him, no matter what it cost, and had shaken his hand. He offered her safe travel back with one of his friends to live with his agent. It was after sunrise when he elected to depart her company. And Lucia lived in Santa Cecilia for twelve more years until she was murdered and buried beneath the mango tree.

Tierra de los Muertos, 2026

The night she met Ernesto flashed in Lucia's mind as she waited on the beach for him. She had tried to be patient with him but she was reaching her wit's end. She had made sure to look after him, both in life and in death, but there was only so much she could do when her power grew weaker by the hour. As it was, the sun would rise soon and she would soon lose control of Nina's body.

As Lucia had entranced the xolo alebrije, she had absorbed the power within the shawl unto herself, then forced the dog to run away with it. Then she had 'given chase' to the dog, to try to get Miguel away from the others. She had only wanted Miguel, but getting Socorro had been sweeter; Socorro was innocent. Her death would have been such a waste of youth, a tragedy to marr the Rivera family for years.

Now Lucia waited for the man of the hour. She sat on the beach and watched the sky as it lightened. It was impercepievably lighter, though no pink or orange tainted its pallet yet. A few hours more, and they would be in the clear. The beach was the perfect place to stage what she wanted to do. So...visually dynamic. So perfect. She had always loved the beach as a child, and now this beach was no different. Lucia could even feel Nina's nostalgia seep into her own feelings.

A noise behind Lucia made her smile. Ernesto's face emerged from behind a large rock, the young girl in his arms. She wriggled and struggled, but that wouldn't do much for escaping someone who had no potential to get tired.

Socorro's eyes went wide with terror as they met Nina's. Innocent golden brown met sinister green. 

"Hola, niña," cooed Lucia, raising a hand to pet Socorro's head. Socorro flinched away from the touch, tears streaming down her face. There was duct tape over her mouth and her nose was swollen beyond belief.

"How was the door?" Lucia asked, directing the question at Ernesto, despite the fact that she was eyeing the child. Socorro's nose was dripping, both blood and snot, as she struggled and cried in Ernesto's arms.

She had to be so terrified. Part of Lucia wrenched in guilt, but she did not let it eat her for long. This was all for a cause. This was for Ermesto. To repay him for saving her life. To repay him for setting up her family so well.

"The door was not the problem. The girl, however...she made it difficult to get through. I had to tie her wrists and ankles together so she woouldn't kick at me. I lost my hand twice." He stooped to set Socorro in the sand. "She's quite the fighter."

Socorro scrambled the moment her feet hit the beach, but Lucia lifted her hand and sliced it through the air abruptly. The sand between Ernesto and Lucia began to shift, taking Socorro with it. Her limbs sunk deeper and deeper into the sand. Soon the girl was buried past her hips. She cried out muffled, panicked squeals as she sank.

Ernesto leapt back. "Dios mio--are you trying to kill her?" he cried.

Lucia's eyes caught his. "I thought you wanted to kill her." It wasn't a question. It was an accusation.

The sand stopped sinking. Socorro was buried up to her chest; she wriggled but was unable to escape as the sand pressed down on her ribs. Her bound wrists were not helping the situation. Her movements became more panicked as she realized what they were implying.

Ernesto's face set in a hard line. "I want the boy to suffer. Héctor too. And the bitch that stole my best friend. I see the world pitying that fool woman for being so brave and raising her child and her family alone, when I knew she had help. She had the whole family to run the business. I'll bet she didn't lift a finger and took in her own money--"

"That's not true!" Socorro's voice squeaked, despite her terror. "She had to work really hard to get the family like it is!" When had she removed the tape? It was curled up in one of her little skeletal fists. Seeing such small hands as only bones made Lucia's skin crawl.

Lucia stooped, plastering a smile on her face that did not reach her eyes. Her face took on a creepy façade. "And you know this because....?"

Socorro shrank away from Lucia. She was distrustful of Nina and Nina's face now. All that she had seen Nina do over the last few hours had made her scared stiff. "My mamá told me so," she whispered.

Lucia stood abruptly. "Maybe I should have targeted more living Riveras," she remarked sarcastically. "Starting with the mother."

"No!" Socorro cried, eyes wide.

Lucia laughed at the child's fright. "Don't worry, mija, she's safe. That stupid dog is guarding her this evening. Well, this morning now," she remarked, pulling the near-dead phone out of Nina's jeans pocket. The screen had been cracked at some point in the evening, but she could still use it to tell the time.

2:28 am. They did not have much time left, if they wanted to ensure that Miguel and his family suffered amply. Lucia's final move would be to make sure Miguel watched as Nina was killed, finally revealing that she had been under Lucia's control all evening.

It would be such a show! She just had to make sure all the pieces were in the right places. The giant jaguar Ernesto had warned her about was probably still searching for its owner. And the xolo was stuck on the other side of the bridge til sunrise. Héctor had probably been looking for Socorro for a while now, but even if they did catch up to Lucia and Ernesto, Lucia could just ensnare him somehow, like she had ensnared Nina.

"Where were you while I was....babysitting?" Ernesto asked cautiously. Lucia caught thre slightest bit of hesitation in his voice.

"Am I detecting weakness, Tío Neto?" She asked, brows lowering in annoyance.

He shook his head, eyes wide. "No! Not at all...I just want to keep stock of what all we have done so far."

She laughed. "Why, to keep a rap sheet? Or to report to the police if this goes awry?" Her face was serious, all lines and curves set in a frown. "Are you forgetting that the second you walk into the police station you will be detained?"

Ernesto dodged the question. He pointed a finger at her. "You said this was surefire. Your plan is backed by magic. It will work, won't it?"

She nodded. "It will. We just need to keep the beasties occupied til sunrise. The people themselves are just piles of bones, really. Even the living ones. But the alebrijes...even someone with two witches' power is not strong enough to keep them at bay." 

Ernesto seemed to gulp, if a skeleton could swallow.

"If you must know, I completely scattered Imelda. I silenced her, so that as long as Nina is around, or her soul is remembered, the bitch will never utter another word. The..." she waved her hand, trying to think of a name, "pink one, is completely gone. I cast Oblivion on her. She was instantaneously forgotten. The blast was actually quite impresssive, let me tell you."

His face was unreadable as he responded, "I know. I felt it."

She met his eyes, and they glimmered golden brown for a second before going green again. "I cast the same spell on Miguel Rivera."

Ernesto furrowed his brow. "What does that do to him?"

"It makes it so that no matter how famous he was in life, he will be forgotten the moment he dies."

The words hung in the air between them for some time. Ernesto's mouth stayed open as he processed this. He looked down at Socorro, who had stopped struggling long enough to hear what they had said. Her mouth was moving before Ernesto had a moment to react.

"You forgot Miguel?" she asked in horror.

Lucia rolled her eyes. "Not yet, but essentially yes. No matter how he lives out his stupid life, he will be forgotten forever."

Ernesto's eyes went to Socrro and to Lucia, back and forth several times, making some auick calculations. "He'll never see the girl again," he realized numbly. If they killed the brat, Miguel would never see her because the moment he died he would be forgotten.

Lucia scoffed, an annoyed huffing noise. "Don't tell me you're going soft, Neto. You told me last year you were going crazy doing the work of laborers just to get yourself pretty things that give you even a semblance of the life you used to lead." She stalked toward him, her face taking on a terrifying grimace. "You told me you wanted revenge on the Riveras but were not sure just how to get it."

Ernesto began backing away from her, hands raised. Lucia didn't even touch her magic as she stalked toward him. She was terrifying enough.

She continued threateningly advancing toward him, stepping over Socorro. The girl winced, but Ernesto did not focus on the little one for long. Lucia continued moving further forward. "You told me that that stupid boy my niece is so," she spat the curseword, "fucking attached to, is the reason that your afterlife is ruined. Right?"

When he didn't immediately answer, she barked it in his face. "RIGHT?"

Ernesto sputtered. "Ay, yes, he was, but- "

"But what, Neto?" Ernesto's feet hit the water and he stopped backtracking as his shoes filled with the sea. "Are you wanting to tell me to go back on what I have done?" A shimmer of gold caught her eyes again. "Because I can not undo what I have done." Her eyes shimmered with anger, the corners of her mouth pulled down in a grimace. "Don't tell me you're going soft, Ernesto. We are in this too deep and I intend to finish this one way or another." With each breath she got closer, til their faces were mere centimeters apart. She stared at him angrily for several long seconds before huffing and turning away. The scowl never left Lucia's face as she advanced toward the littlest Rivera.

"Your brother is coming back," Lucia said to the struggling girl, who now stared with wide eyes at the woman she thought was Nina. "I can sense him."

"What are you gonna do to him?" Socorro asked timidly, shying away from the half-skeleton woman towering over her.

Lucia looked at her hands. Shimmery white bone seemed to shine in the moonlight. Her niece was in very real danger. Not that Lucia cared much; if Nina was blessed home now, or if she died when the sun rose, she would have a long afterlife. There were too many family members in their family to let her go forgotten. Not like Lucia was, anyway.

Lucia had spent several decades under the earth because of her stupidity. If not for her magical ties to Ernesto's heart strings, she probably would have been forgotten by now. She wasn't even sure if any of the living Bernals knew her name anymore. She was probably just a faded photo of someone they could never remember the name of, or if she was even related to them.

"Guard the brat," Lucia snapped over her shoulder at Ernesto, distractedly walking away. The Rivera boy was coming back. She was not sure if she had met a stupider person in her entire life; if she had been in an explosion she probably would have thrown in the towel. As she approached the Shantytown border houses, she thought on what had happened to Ernesto's resolve. He could not be trusted anymore. She owed him, though, and she was true to her word. If nothing else, she would be true to her word.

Which was why she let her niece take over her own body the second they spotted Miguel Rivera in the remains of the shack she had obliterated moments before.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lucia is a potty mouth too :/
> 
> Damn shame
> 
> I don't own Coco. Or anything really. Just my little box under a bridge.


	15. De Vuelta al Juego

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Back in the game
> 
> WARNING: blood in this chapter

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had to rewrite this chapter probably six times, each with a different ending. The ending I originally had in mind just....didn't fit anymore :/
> 
> Sorry it's so late. I just...wanted it to be good.
> 
> I will include a chapter of fun little tidbits I had on this work at the end of the entire work to explain drastic changes I made, fun little coincidences, etc.

It had taken them nearly an hour to find Imelda and piece her back together. And still Imelda had not yet spoken. The twins and Héctor stared at her, waiting for her to respond, but she only stared at them with wide eyes. Héctor had befriended a number of skeletons over the years who did not speak, and they wore the same shell-shocked expression Imelda was now wearing. But they were revolucionarios, people who had seen explosions and heard or felt gunshots and normally only were triggered by loud noises. Imelda was a shoemaker! She was a mother and a fierce matriarch! She wasn't a revolucionaria. She was--

His eyes fell on her outfit, which had several burn marks. The skirt of her dress had a sizeable hole that he could see her patella through. When he had dug her limbs out of the box he had seen charred spots all over her bones, and he noticed them now with a new light. Even her skull had a slight dusting of ash on it, even though it had been underwater previously.

"You were in the explosion," he dumbly concluded.

She shook her head yes slowly, the first thing she had done to communicate anything with her family.

"Ay, mi amor," Héctor said, taking a step toward her. 

She turned to face Pepita, who was much more pacified than earlier, but still anxious. Pepita clearly had somewhere else to take them. But Héctor wanted to check with his wife before they stormed directly into what she would probably consider Ground Zero. She was hiding her feelings, putting everyone else first like she always did. But he knew she needed them right now.

"Imelda?" he asked, cautiously moving toward her.

She opened her mouth to speak. Héctor thought he saw her mouth, 'Lo siento,' but he could not be certain. She stayed leaning against Pepita, her breath sharp and hitching, even if they could not hear it.

Felipe was the first to remark on her situation objectively. "She can't speak because of the explosion." Imelda's eyes met his. "Were your vertebrae damaged?"

Imelda shook her head. No, it was nothing like that that had silenced her. She seemed to be lost in the floorboards beneath them before she felt a gentle hand on her shoulder. She flinched again, but relaxed slightly when she looked up to see Óscar. 

"Was it an Ernesto fan?" he asked softly.

Imelda's eyes widened, if that were possible. All this evening she had not been herself; she had been tight, quiet, aprehensive, worried, and angry. Not her usually happy yet stern self. It broke her brothers' and her husband's heart to see her like this. Worn, tired, edgy...jumping at the slightest sounds.

She nodded finally.

Héctor clenched his hands tightly, a sour expression marring his face. That malnacido, that hijo de puta, that--

He had trusted Ernesto. As a child, Ernesto had practically raised him, and in return Héctor had given him guitar lessons and the best possible company he could. Héctor and Ernesto had been in the boy's choir at home in Santa Cecilia--until they turned into teenagers and were forcibly kicked out for being too rambunctious. Ernesto had taken care of Héctor. And they had been the best of friends, right up until the moment that Ernesto had murdered him. Now Ernesto was turning his own fans on the Riveras.

One look at Imelda's face made Héctor's heart sink further. She was terrified. Terrified of what had happened, what she had seen, and for some reason she wasn't able to speak at all.

"Imelda..." he said softly, body instantly losing all its tension. He wanted to appear relaxed in front of her so as not to scare her. "Imedla, me amor, I...I'm so sorry I got you into this. If I had never been friends with that man, if we had never pressed charges, none of thus would have happened. There wouldn't be die-hard de la Cruz fans after us. We would all be fine. This was all my--"

He wa cut off when she launched into his arms. She shook her head vigorously and gripped his back with a fierceness he had never experienced from her before. She was petrified, leaning heavily on him when she couldn't stand on her own. She clutched at him with a desperate vice that he was afraid to break.

He desperately wanted to know what she was thinking, but he did not have to venture far to guess. She did not blame him. She had not blamed him since Miguel had set her straight all those years ago. She never would blame him for leaving Coco and herself behind. He had sent them letters and money and promises to return. His only fault was in trusting Ernesto and not returning as soon as he wanted to. She had spent over ninety years blaming him for his actions and she never wanted to blame him again.

He gently brought up a hand to cradle her head, weary to let go if she flinched or froze. But she only relaxed into him, vice-like grip loosening as she held him more tenderly. She fell into his embrace. He felt her bones rattle as she trembled, but they didn't make any noise. It seemed like she was unable to make any noise whatsoever.

But that cluldn't be right; she was just shell-shocked. It was an explosion, right? What on earth had happened? He had never heard of s skeleton being in an exoplosion and being unable to make noise.

Héctor gingerly pulled back slightly to look at his wife, placing a gentle hand on her face. She leaned into the touch, placing her own hand over his. She seemed all right enough now, though he was not going to ignore the trauma she had obviously been through. They finally pulled apart, but Héctor held tightly to her hand. Héctor did not miss the desperation in her grip as she turned to direct the family, as she normally did. She hesitated for a moment, though, realizing her predicament, being unable to speak.

Her eyes lit up; Imelda dug into her apron and oulled out a notepad. Her face fell when she saw that it, along with her pen, were absolutely destroyed when she had been submerged in water. Ink smeared on page after page.

It was once again Felipe who came up with a solution. He pulled his own notepad out of his apron along with the fountain pen he always kept on his person and handed them to his big sister.

She smiled gratefully at him before flipping open the pocketbook to a blank space. Imelda hesitated then, her eyes focusing on the page.

"Mela?" asked Óscar, sensing her hesitation.

Imelda had relied on these three people the most in her life; despite the fact that they were all younger than her and Héctor had died when she was only twenty-two, she had trusted the men in front of her. They were her age and responsible enough to be able to raise Coco--until Héctor had died of course, but she was not going to fault him for that. Not anymore. She could trust them.

Imelda breathed a long, silent puff of air out before finally putting pen to paper to explain what had happened.  
\-----------------------------------  
Miguel appeared out of thin air, it seemed. Only to drop roughly a meter and fall through several planks of wood and be completely submerged in water.

For a normal person, this would have been a surprise. An unwelcome one, but just a surprise nonetheless. A normal person would swim to the surface, fight their way through the boards, and then take a deep breath and continue on with their task. 

But Miguel was not normal. He had not been swimming for almost a decade. He had seen a psychologist about it sometime after he turned thirteen, after having a panic attack at their favorite swimming hole. The children he had been playing with had been absolutely terrified of his shouting and flailing, and his parents were horrified about what he cried out. "Let me go! I won't tell!" And "Don't do this!" had escaped his mouth several times before his mamá was able to calm him out of his panic attack. It left the family wondering what possibly could have happened to their niño to make him so frantic. He told them that night about his adventure.

When Miguel went to the Tierra de los Muertos as a child, he did not get away scott-free; he had been traumatized. For weeks afterward, he watched his family members closely, as if afraid they might vanish on sight. Mamá and Papá had not attached anything to his worry aside from some leftover trauma associated with being lost for a whole night.

Until he had had the panic attack. He had just turned thirteen, and he felt so embarrassed about being a "stupid crybaby". His family was far more worried about what had happened to him than what he thought of his trauma. Mamá and Papá had sent him to a therapist who was able to put into words what had happened to him. Miguel attached the water to bad memories of Ernesto, and carried that around in his subconscious. He equated swimming and bodies of water with almost drowning with the guitar on his back or with the sinkhole that he had been thrown into.

At least, that was what the therapist had said. She had told him that he would need to eventually face his fear. But Miguel had felt that his fear, which only sometimes haunted his dreams, would be no true inhibitor on his actual life. So he had gone years without swimming or facing that fear.

Now Miguel's greatest fear was coming to life. He struggled to get to the surface. Every time he got near it, he felt the boards in the way. He couldn't see. He couldn't see and he was going to drown here.

Miguel frantically coughed and kicked. Rationally he knew that the shack had been absolutely obliterated, and he was now in the water beneath it. But his heart hammered and panic set in, sending him messages that he was once again in that pool, and the guitar on his back was filled with water, and he was going to drown, and no one was going to know to rescue him because he was pretending to be dead.

He was going to drown, and then he would be immediately forgotten and no one would ever know what happened to him. He would just vanish into nothingness.

Miguel's memories scrambled between his journey into the Tierra de los Muertos. His lungs screamed for air. He frantically tried to shove the boards aside, but they were stuck together, they wouldn't move, he was trapped under the walkway. Why was this happening? He had only wanted to save Socorro! He wanted to help Nina come home so they could find a solution! He didn't want to die! Not yet!

Miguel's head felt like it was being stuffed with cotton. Vaguely he realized that this was the second time that day that he had drowned. The water in the dream had been different; he had controlled every aspect of the dream until Ernesto showed up. Ernesto had been a terrifying force in his dreams this year. It was like the dream was trying to warn him to stay away from the Tierra de los Muertos. But he couldn't now, could he? He had made his decision. Now he was facing the consequences. He released his last breath, his eyes closing as his body got weaker and weaker.

a flash of light

there were hands on his shoulders, and it was De la Cruz, and can't anyone see that this man was horrible, he would kill him, but he was dead already wasn't he?

felt air pressing into his lungs, and the zap of electricity on his chest, and then more air being forced into his abdomen, and then another pang like thunder rattling his bones, and he was sputtering all the water from his chest, and his lungs were taking in wheezing pained breaths

and a soft woman's voice was talking to him

But that was wrong wasn't it?

Miguel finally came to. Nina was leaning over him, her face only centimeters from his. Her hands were on his chest, and her voice was speaking panicked words over him. She sounded like herself again somehow. He listened to her and let her voice wash over him. Slowly he started to comprehend what she was saying. "--Dios mío. Thank the Lord." Her voice came out in one big breath as she moved his hair out of his face. She lifted Miguel's head to her and held him close as he tried to make sense of what had happened. His head rocked as she shook with sobs.

Slowly he understood. He had drowned. He had literally drowned because he had had a panic attack under water. And she had saved his life. Using CPR, and a jolt of electricity to his abdomen. He clutched her arms, suddenly overcome with a gripping fear of what had almost transpired.

"Nina?" he croaked.

Her warm brown eyes met his. "Tito," she sobbed. "I thought...I thought you were dead. I thought--why did you come back here, you stupid idiot!" Her words were interrupted with a strange mingle of half-laughter and half-sobbing. She was relieved that he was alive.

"I came back for you," he rasped.

Nina let another shaky sob-laugh from her lips before she kissed his forehead briefly. She didn't linger, just expressed how much she loved him with the simplest gesture. She wasn't bad after all; it had to be a misunderstanding. 

"I...I almost died, didn't I?" He asked stupidly, slowly processing what was going on around him. He raised a hand and pressed it to his forehead. Something was nagging at him that this still wasn't right. He just couldn't figure out what it was.

Nina closed her eyes. "We can't have you dying on us. Not yet."

"Yet?" he vaguely asked, lost in her embrace. She had saved him. That alone would have made him fall in love with her, if not for the fact that they were already in love.

"It would ruin the best part. Neto needs to be the one to kill you, and Héctor has to see it happen." Her eyes opened and met his, filled with the sinister green they were earlier. Things clicked in his head finally. She was still dangerous, and she still wanted to hurt him.

Miguel startled away from her, scrambling. She released him, almost looking like she relished in his panic.

"Nina," he realized. "Why are you doing this?" He was so, so, so tired. Emotionally done with the evening, but he needed to do this. He would see it through to the end. Even as his chest and body ached, he knew he had to save Socorro. He had to.

She backed away from him. Her face was filled with a vengeance he had never seen before in her. She was angry, she was mean, she was heartbroken. There was nothing they could do to fix it. He could tell.

"Nina, mi amor, come back with me. We can fix this together. I will give your family all the royalties. They can keep the money. We don't need it. I can tell them...I can come up with something." A chill was setting to his bones, but it was not entirely from being soaked or the fact that it was several degrees colder in the Tierra de los Muertos.

He knew it was pointless.

Her face went sour for a moment, her beautiful features twisted in a foul grimace. "There's nothing you can do for me," she whispered. She lifted her arm, and Miguel found himself floating, as if being lifted by string. She began walking down the street, over the abandoned rotted planks, Miguel following motionlessly behind. They glided along Shantytown, over rickety boards and past collapsing, disused houses.

Miguel couldn't speak. Something was smothering his thoughts again. He wanted to ask what she wanted, but he didn't have a voice. He strained to look at Nina. Her eyes were glowing the sinister green, as if backlit by an emerald candle.

He realized they were drifting toward the beach. Once there, he strained to search the shore, but he couldn't twist his head enough to see in either direction. The water was calm, the ocean deep and dark. The sand glittered like millions of small shards of obsidion.

Nina snapped her fingers and he fell into the sand.

Miguel landed in his injured shoulder. He cried out, surprised at how much it hurt. He huffed through his teeth for a few moments, trying to breathe through the searing pain. He could feel the wet bandage rubbing against his skin. He was grateful that the bandage on his cheek at least stayed on, despite him being dunked.

"New outfit, Niño?" asked a smoothe voice.

Miguel's eyes shot open. He scrambled into a standing position and faced the man he hadn't seen in almost a decade, the man who had murdered his Papá Héctor.

Ernesto de la Cruz almost shimmered in the dark, his bones were so bright. He remained in the shadows, half his body obscured in darkness. His voice cut through the air like a knife. "It's nice to see you again, Miguel," he said, smiling all the while. "It's about time we had a little family reunion, wouldn't you agree?" 

"You're not my family," Miguel spat, releasing his searing shoulder. "You made that pretty clear you didn't want to be when you tossed me into the cenote to die."

Ernesto chuckled, unphased by the remark. He stepped out of the shadows, and Miguel's eyes landed on the form beside him. Ernesto's smug tone made Miguel's breath hitch.

"I wasn't talking about me."

Socorro's shivering frame appeared beside Ernesto. Miguel wasn't sure whether she was shivering from the cold or fear. His eyes went directly to the blood on her shirt. He tried to locate a wound, but he understood immediately when he saw her face. Her nose was swollen and both of her eyes were blackened. She looked petrified.

"Iguel," Socorro cried, moving forward.

Ernesto clamped a hand on her shoulder and yanked her backward. Her wrists were bound together with tape.

Rage filled Miguel. "You mother fu--"

"Not in front of the children, Tito," Nina cooed, walking up beside Ernesto. She put a hand on Socorro's head and ran a hand over the child's braids. Miguel's stomach recoiled at the way his sister fliched with the pat. "We didn't hit her, if that's what you're thinking. She ran into a wall." She examined Socorro's braid, then let it fall to the young girl's shoulder.

Miguel resisted the urge to rush forward. "What do you want?" he snarled through his teeth. He didn't know if he believed what she had said about hitting his little sister. He just knew he needed to get her out of there.

Socorro shivered away from the touch and looked to her brother. Fright was plain as day on her face, even if her eyes were swollen. She watched Miguel's interactions with her captors with frightened interest, too petrified to say anything.

He would get her out of this if it killed him.

"What do you want, de la Cruz?" Miguel asked again, more venemously if that were possible. He would not dare show an ounce of weakness.

Ernesto withdrew a knife from his pocket, and instantly the atmosphere went from bad to worse. De la Cruz studied the blade, seemingly unaware that Socorro was squirming to get away from him. Miguel moved forward but Nina casually flicked her wrist and sent Miguel flying back a meter or so. He landed facefirst in the sand and coughed.

Ernesto stalked toward Miguel. "I want my reputation back, niño."

"I can't fix that," Miguel said gruffly from the ground. He staggered to a standing position, and held a hand in front of him, to deflect if he needed to. "Look, I can tell people that I lied but they already scanned the letters and the songbook and dated them. Everything in writing is Héctor's." His tone was desperate and serious at the same time. Like he was trying to reason with a dangerous murderer.

Which he was.

Miguel racked his brain for answers. "I'll tell everybody here that I staged the fall. Just please, let her go."

Ernesto sneered at Miguel. "You can't repay me," he said, waving the knife at Miguel. Miguel's eyes travelled to Socorro. Nina had one hand on her shoulder and boredly played with a swirl of green lightning in the fingertips of her other hand. Not caring that her magic had caused Miguel so much anguish already.

"Nothing you do will ever fix this," Ernesto said louder. "You tarnished my reputation, you turned the world against me, you took my familia." He turned to face Socorro, waving the knife in front of her wide eyes.

"Don't--!" Miguel cried, taking a step toward Ernesto. His only thoughts were of the knife. 

Nina held up a hand to throw him backward again, but Ernesto cut her off with a look. He was curious what Miguel would say.

Miguel was desperate, fearing for his little sister's life. He stepped forward, palms up, to show he was not going to attack. "Please, Señor de la Cruz, please. Don't hurt her," he begged. "You already took away my afterlife," he said, directing the words at Nina. But his eyes never left Ernesto or his sister. "You took away my Tía Rosita. That hurt both Héctor and me. It hurt the whole family. Please, just please don't hurt my little sister."

Ernesto smiled, his teeth glistening in the near-twilight darkness. "You're forgetting someone, niño."

Nina began to snicker at him.

"What?" Miguel asked, throat clenching.

Nina's laugh made his heart drop. It was cold and cruel, nothing like she had been only hours before. "Nina...?" Miguel's eyes were wide and frightened, as he allowed himself to dare take his eyes off his little sister to look at her.

"Imelda's gone, too," Nina informed him nonchalantly. She inspected the nails of the hand that was not attached to Socorro's shoulder. "I obliterated her after I destroyed your aunt." Her eyes flicked in Miguel's direction, watching for his reaction.

Miguel's heart sank below his feet. So they had gotten Mamá Imelda after all. If there was a way to do a kick to the heart, this was it. Héctor would be devastated. Hell, Miguel felt devastation eat away at himself as physical ache that seized his chest. How could he go back home, face his familia? Even if he managed to save Socorro with what little time he had left, how was he going to return and tell them that he had lost? No matter what the outcome, he had lost.

Miguel felt the grief grip him tightly, like a physical pain. It made it difficult to breathe. His stupididty had put his whole family in danger. If he had made sure to include Socorro more, she never would have smashed the guitar or destroyed the ofrenda. She never would have come here. If he had not demanded that Héctor's family receive the royalties for his songs, Nina would not be feeling vengeance like this. He had boldly risked his own life to come after two of his favorite girls, but now he realized what a mistake that had been. He was not the only one in danger now.

"The bitch deserved it," Ernesto continued nonchalantly, interrupting Miguel's thoughts. The disgraced músico ran his thumb bone along the knife. It made a scraping noise that made Miguel's teeth ring.

"Imelda," Miguel growled.

"Hmm?" Ernesto said tauntingly, stepping forward roward Miguel. "What did you say, niño?"

Miguel glared at Ernesto. If looks could kill...Ernesto would have died again several times over. "Her. Name. Was. Imelda." Angry tears glittered in Miguel's eyes. The fight had slowly drained from his body through the night, but the moment that Ernesto had called his beloved Mamá Imelda a bitch, a new wave of energy flew through his system.

Ernesto smirked, giving a little scoff at Miguel. "That matters to me? All she was was a girl and her brat to me. She wanted to keep Héctor to herself, like the selfish whore she was. I'm glad she's gone."

Miguel's breath huffed through his teeth dangerously. "You're so pathetic," he growled. "Using my family against me and Héctor. You two could have worked out a deal! You could have just let him live! You could have asked him to write songs for you!" He yelled. He was getting hysteric. He had only been angry like this once or twice in his life, and he absolutely hated the fact that it was in front if Socorro and Nina. Even if Nina was not herself this holiday.

"That"s ancient history, Miguel. I'm surprised you are getting so worked up about the throes of old men."

"He wasn't an old man! He was my age!" Miguel exclaimed, bringing his hands in to point them at his chest. Frustrated tears rolled down his cheeks. "You robbed him! You could have just asked for more songs, but you had to kill him!" His eyes darted to Socorro and Nina. "And now you're using my familia against me!" Miguel cried, overcome with frustration.

Nina watched with interest, her hand never leaving Socorro's shoulder. Socorro watched him through anxious puffy eyes. She had never seen him so desperately angry before, or so scared.

The sky was beginning to hedge in pink now. They had spent way too much time here. Miguel turned to Nina.

"Katerina," he said, eyes closed, brows furrowed in exasperation. Miguel never used her full name. Partly because Nina just went by Nina and partly because he liked to save it for when he was being serious with her. He was serious now. Deadly serious. He turned his whole body to face her and opened his eyes. He wanted to be totally vulnerable and open to her. To show how he was feeling. He was hurting. Hopeful and hopeless at the same time. "I don't know what he has told you, but we are in very real danger." Miguel did not dare sugarcoat it in front of his little sister. She could stand to hear a few words. "We will die if we don't get blessed home by our families."

Nina stared at him indifferently. "Then go home to your family, Miguel." She jutted her chin out smugly in contest, waiting to see what he would do.

Miguel tilted his head, brows furrowed, mouth a hard line as he examined her. He let out a breath through his nose. "I can't go back without you, Nina. You and Socorro." He had no idea where the bravery was coming from. Miguel's eyes met Nina's, and he was convinced he saw the golden brown flash in them. He inhaled sharply. "I know I hurt your family, and I hurt Ernesto's afterlife. I am truly, deeply sorry for what I did. You got me back," he had to swallow before saying their names. "Tía Rosita and Mamá Imelda are gone, but no one else has to die."

He held a hand forward, palm up, like a peace offering.

"Come with me," he urged gently. "We can fix this together. Don't stay to help a man who is not willing to get his own hands dirty, who manipulates those around him to get what he wants."

Miguel's eyes caught the gold in Nina's once again. Her facial expression showed internal conflict, green eyes darting this way and that as she contemplated his words. He could see he was starting to win her over.

"Miguel, I--"

Ernesto lunged at Miguel, making his move before anybody could do anything. Miguel leapt backwards, but his boot heel caught on a rock. Ernesto slashed the knife at Miguel. Miguel was lucky that he had worn a denim jacket this go-around; the first half of the movement the knife was caught on the zipper of his jacket, but once the knife was pulled free it tore through his shirt and sliced the flesh over his stomach. For one horrible moment, Miguel felt himself falling blindly backward, until his head collided with the ground. Miguel felt the noise resound in his skull, his vision blurring for a moment. The air left his body in a huff. It took him a moment for the pain to register. He curled inward, holding his gut in pain. When he pulled back his hand, it came away bloody.

He tried to tell himself it wasn't that bad, it wasn't that bad, his shoulder was probably worse, but he was feeling woozy at the sight of so much of his own blood. His swimming head made the panic in his heart more palpable.

Ernesto stalked slowly forward. Miguel's eyes found Ernesto's boots and trailed up hazily to look at his face. Ernesto bent a knee and grabbed Miguel's collar. Ernesto lifted Miguel, pulling him close. Miguel winced as Ernesto breathed in his face. "How's that for not wanting to get my hands dirty?" he snarled. With one quick movement, Ernesto thrust his arm forward, jutting the knife into Miguel's stomach.

Miguel's heart pounded in his ears. It felt like water was rushing through his head. With wide eyes he slowly looked down at his gut, in disbelief that something like this could have happened to him. He could only blink in response. Ernesto pulled the knife from Miguel's stomach, dropping Miguel heartlessly with one swift motion. 

Miguel's vision blurred with tears. He grunted as Ernesto let him go, falling onto his side. He curled in on himself protectively.

Socorro screamed. "Miguel! No!" She yanked free of Nina's shocked grip, bare feet pounding into the sand as she fled toward Miguel. She had lost her shoes when the beach tried to swallow her whole. She didn't care as her feet hit black rocks and unseen seashells and other debris. She only cared about getting to Miguel.

Ernesto whirled to face her, the knife becoming visible.

Socorro halted her movement abruptly. The knife. She hadn"t thought about that. Luckily, someone had just arrived at the beach. A loud swishing noise and the sound of four gigantic feline-bird feet stamped into the sand a few meters away. Pepita gave a mighty roar.

Four figures dismounted the beast. Their leader made their presense known.

"DE LA CRUZ!" someone shouted. "Let them go!"

Miguel's face flooded with relief as he recognized the owner of the voice. "Héctor," he choked out, craning his neck to see his tatarabuelo, along with three others. He recognized Imelda immediately, heart doing a flip in his chest. She met Miguel's eyes in horror, taking in his physical state with a silent gasp. Immediately her expression changed to anger, which Miguel wasn't certain was directed at himself or Ernesto. Pepita crouched to leap at the alarmed mariachi.

Ernesto seized his moment, grasping tightly to Socorro, making everyone's worst dreams come true.

"No," Miguel grunted as his sister entered the clutches of a monster with a knife. He pushed himself onto his elbow, pained grimace setting his face.

Nina causally looked up from her nails, as if something interesting had finally happened. As if she had not just been about to side with Miguel again. As if the love of her life had not just been impaled by a murderer. As if she had not been horrified just moments ago that Socorro had rushed toward a man with a knife.

Héctor didn't even need to look back to see Imelda was charging. He shot an arm out to the side to stop her. "This is between you and me, Ernesto." Héctor's voice was careful. "Not my grandkids." He held his hands out like Miguel had earlier. Like he was speaking to a dangerous murderer.

Ernesto shot a glance at Miguel, and pointed the bloodied knife at his rigid frame. "Not even this one?" He asked, voice getting tight with nerves. "He did most of the work involving you, I feel."

Héctor's eyes flicked to Miguel. "Mijo, it's going to be all right. We'll get you two out of this." Even Miguel could hear the tightness in his tatarabuelo's voice.

"Stoy bien, Pá," Miguel grunted. But his voice was so low he wasn't sure anyone heard him. "Just--help Coquis."

Héctor nodded, determination setting into his features. His brow and mouth set into a stubborn line that Miguel had seen on any number of the Riveras. Miguel was glad that Héctor looked so strong now, because Miguel was beginning to see spots. His side was literally killing him. He didn't feel hopeful of his own situation. But if anyone could help them, it would be Héctor. He would get them out of this.

The patriarch turned his attention not to Ernesto, but to Nina, which shocked everyone. "Nina, if you have sided with this man despite seeing all the horrible things he has done, there must be something worse that is hurting you beside money. What is it? We can fix it on either side of the veil for your family."

Nina's green eyes widened in shock. She had probably not expected the missing mariachi to speak to her directly when his tatatanieta was in the hands of a known murderer. A smile found its way to her features when she realized that Héctor knew she was the one running the show. Anyone who observed Ernesto's features could tell that he was a desperate man with no backup plan.

She was the one with the true plan.

Everyone eyed Héctor with shock. Óscar and Felipe stared hard at their brother-in-law. Héctor could practically feel their skepticism digging into his back, particularly as Imelda's eyes stared at him. But he was taking every chance.

Nina suddenly started chuckling. Everyone stared at her in confusion, even Miguel, who was losing a battle with consciousness. Her laughing got more and more intense with each second that passed. Soon she was bent over, hysterical laughter rippling through her form. It made everyone uneasy.

"This is not funny." Ernesto snarled at her, despite his palpable fear. His grip on Socorro had loosened, but the girl dared not run for fear of the knife.

Nina's body began to glow as her laughter descended into mad cackling. Héctor found himself stepping backwards, arms beside him to shield his family members as Nina began to glow and a strange light emitted from her body. It was like someone had stuck a lamp inside of her chest and turned it on full power. Imelda gripped Héctor's arm in fear, and he understood in an instant what was about to happen.

He dove backwards, pulling his family members to the ground, just as Nina's body burst with power and light. He caught Óscar with his elbow, and gripped Felipe's apron with one hand while he wrapped a protective arm arouund Imelda. Héctor had no idea what had happened to Socorro and Miguel, but he had one horrifying realization that no matter what happened he would not have been able to reach them in time.

The beach exploded with light so bright he could see it through closed eyelids. A concussive noise rang out, louder than any noise Héctor had ever heard before. He and the others landed hard on the sand.

There was a ringing in his head. Héctor looked beside him, where the twins lay semi disassembled. They dasedly sat upright, shell-shocked. Héctor's gaze found Imelda next, who held her head as she righted herself again.

They were okay. But then--

Héctor scrambled to reconnect his leg, which had popped off in all the action. He sprang to a standing position to look at the beach behind him. The water had been temporarily displaced, but now it rushed back in so fast it came up to his feet, despite the fact that they had been several meters away from the water. He frantically scanned the expanse of wet sand in front of him, looking for anyone, or any indication that his fmaily was there.

He found Socorro first. She popped out of the water, coughing and sputtering. Héctor ran to her immediately, unsure of where Ernesto could be.

His feet plunked in and out of the water, tibia giving him trouble as it always did. He ignored it as he ran the few meters as quickly as he could. Héctor lifted her into the air in a desperately relieved embrace.

She leaned into him, despite trembling in fear and despite the fact that her hands were bound together. "Papá Héctor," she whimpered. She pulled her hands inward, showing him her arm. Her foresrm had a single slashmark drawn diagonally on the back of her wrist. Blood oozed out of it now that she was out of the water again.

"Oh, mija, I'm so sorry," he consoled, taking her hands in his. He gently set her down and removed the tape from her hands.

Héctor could have died again from sheer relief. She could have been hurt so much worse. He began to untie the scarf around his neck, gingerly tying it around her wrist. They heard frantic splashing behind them. Héctor whirled to face the threat, blocking Socorro from whatever was coming, but instantly relaxed when he saw Imelda rushing toward him. She clutched a petal in hand.

Imelda landed on her knees in the water, throwing her arms around her nieta.

"We're so glad you're safe," Héctor told Socorro, who tentatively hugged Imelda back. When she released her tatarabuelita, Héctor instructed Socorro. "Grab your mamá or abuelita and send them to the graveyard, mija. That's where Miguel should be. He will need your help when we send him home." He glanced up the beach, trying to locate Miguel's body along the water.

Socorro understood. She accepted the glowing petal from Imelda, who had not said a single word but was still able to make it light up brighter than la Navidad. If anyone could bless someone without a voice, it would be Imelda. Héctor registered Socorro disappearing in a flash of light out of the corner of his eye.

Héctor scanned the water, seeing Nina's form up the beach a few meters dragging something behind her out of the waves. He realized with terror in his heart that she was dragging Miguel away from the water.

"Nina," Héctor said carefully, "release him. It's over now," he pleaded, voice tight with worry.

She looked up at him in fear, brown eyes flashing. "Please, I just want to help him! Send him home, please! Imelda, tell them! I'm free, please, he's--"

Imelda didn't need to hear any more. She and Héctor rushed forward to help Miguel. Héctor and Imelda gently lifted him from the water and set him down on the sand, despite his groans of protest.

Imelda bent down beside Miguel. She gently placed a hand on his cheek.

"You're--okay," he whispered, tears falling down his cheeks. 

Héctor knealt down beside Miguel next. He examined Miguel's gut for one moment before placing a hand over Miguel's. He pressed down firmly on the wound, making Miguel cough.

"Niño--it's almost sunrise. Who--?"

"You. Your grave," Miguel wheezed.

"Thank the lord," Héctor murmured, glad he didn't need to go track down one of the other Riveras. "I give you my blessing, Miguel, and for the love of all that is holy don't come back until you're old and grey." The petal in his hand lit up bright as the sun.

The world shuddered.

Miguel chuckled wetly. "No promises, Pá." He lifted a hand out weakly for the petal. Imelda gently lifted his hand, like she had lifted Héctor's years ago to help him bless Miguel home.

Miguel looked up at his Papá Héctor and Mamá Imelda, a small smile on his face. "S'quiero," he whispered, eyes closing. His head lolled to the side. Héctor quickly pressed the glowing petal into Miguel's palm.

The world shuddered again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As per ushe, don't own Coco
> 
> This was probably my favorite chapter to write even if I did do it fifty times
> 
> I did a lot of fanart/comics for this to help me visualize it. Let me know if you guys are interested in seeing that too!


	16. La Divina Commedia

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Divine Comedy
> 
> Technically Italian, but eh. I love Dante
> 
> "Blinding Lights" by the Weeknd is the themesong of this whole work. Miguel has a severe time crunch, and he feels wrong when Nina isn't around. To be fair she has not been present until about now, which sucks. "Sin City is cold and empty." Miguel is not supposed to be there, in the TdlM. And I made sure to make light a prevalent symbol in this work.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is where my story diverged. I had a different ending all plotted out. I might post those chapters as a seperate work later on, to be an "alternate ending" but I have a feeling that once I am done with this work all my time will be dedicated to the subsequent work I want to complete after this is finished. Let me know if that's something you would want to see!

Nina's body exploded in pain. Every cell burned with discomfort, as her soul was yanked apart from her Tía Lucia's. It felt like every fiber of her being was being ripped apart, like a blanket being unravelled. She had been through a lot in her short twenty-three years, but never had she felt pain like this before. A blinding light flashed and she was dropped to the beach below.

Nina caught herself with her arms, as the until-now numbed limbs of her body came back to life. She almost laughed in relief as a wave of water came rushing back up the beach. Nina pushed herself up to stand on her knees, searching the opaque waters.

She potted Miguel's body a little ways up the beach. The moment she had exploded with light and been ripped from her aunt, she had not been able to see what had happened to the Riveras or Ernesto. She did not even know if they were till around. The last time she had caused an explosion it had decimated Rosita's spirit.

But a frantic movement from Miguel's hand made her leap to her feet. He appeared to be struggling to swim. She bounded down the beach, ignoring the commotion that began to erupt behind her. She thought she heard Héctor shouting something, but her mind was focused on her novio.

Nina waded back into the water as it drew his body out toward the ominous ocean. She waded through the waist-high water to Miguel. His eyes widened with fear as he tried to shove away from her, but he was too tired. She reached him and gripped under his arms.

"Amor, please," she begged. "It's me, I can help you."

He still pushed against her, but it was weak. He must have been so exhaausted from the night. Nina knew she herself was, but he was suffering from an actual stab wound. She pulled his arms, trying to pull him to the beach. She struggled to keep a hold of his arm as another wave crashed over them. Once the wave had passed, she wrapped her arms around Miguel's torso and continued to drag him to the beach. Only a few more meters now. She was just so tired. As she got closer to the beach, it got harder and harder to move him. His feet dragged on the floor below the water as he groaned in protest.

"Nina," Héctor's voice interrupted her movements, "release him. It's over now."

She gripped Miguel tighter to her. Héctor looked scared. For Miguel, she realized. She dug through her brain for something she could say to him to make him trust her. But in all her muddy memory of the evening of torturing the Riveras, there was nothing she could do to convince them she was on their side.

Pleading was her best bet. "Please, I just want to help him! Send him home, please! Imelda, tell them!" Imelda had walked up next to Héctor, watching her with wide eyes. "I'm free, please, he's--" the words tumbled out of her as her eyes met Imelda's. She had attacked Imelda personally, but she had seen the same desperation in the matriach's eyes when she begged Nina to spare Rosita's life. Hopefully she could appeal to Imelda from the same level.

Imelda's eyes widened in recognition, and Nina's heart could have exploded from sheer relief. She watched as the Riveras took over pulling Miguel's body from the water. He grunted as they placed him down on the beach. Even soaking wet, his side was still soaked in blood. Nina's hand flew to her mouth.

This was all her fault. 

"You're okay," Miguel wheezed, staring up at Imelda.

Well, not okay. She was still silenced. Nina would not be able to rectify that with the small amount of time they had left. She glanced at the horizon, which was now tinged with pink, as Miguel spoke with his tatarabuelos. She looked backat them just in time to see a petal pressed into Miguel's hand.

She felt her mouth quirk up in a relieved smile as Miguel's body dissolved into petals for the final time that Día de los Muertos. She opened her mouth to speak to the Riveras when a flash of green lightning flew at them in the next second, sending Nina and the others flying.

Nina frantically stuck out her hands to catch herself as she pinwheeled wildly through the air. She heard a crack as she came down hard on her left wrist. Her body rolled several times before coming to a halt a little ways down the beach. She clutched her wrist to her chest tightly before trying to stand up.

The wave of dizziness blindsided her. She saw a blur of green light again but she couldn't nail it down because her world tilted wildly and she fell on her side again. She lay there for a moment, sand sticking to her wet skin and breaths sending up little shards of obsidion sand.

She heard another echo of magical thunder and slowly pushed herself up enough to see past the dunes. Lucia was there, now recognizeable as the spirit Nina had unleashed that night, now wearing the shawl imbued with the power of their ancestors. Lucia stood in front of a now-assembled Imelda, who looked up from the ground at Lucia with a horrified expression.

"Imelda! No!" cried Héctor's voice, and Nina felt herself leap into action. She wrenched herself to her feet and began to run up the beach. She was the only one with any power who dould defend the Riveras, even if she was not as experienced as Lucia. She knew now that she was more powerful than ever, even if the holiday was ending shortly.

The Riveras had been through enough heartbreak. They had seen far more trauma than abyone ever needed to. Lifting her good hand above her head and grippinwhat she could out of the air, Nina shot a bolt of almost purple lightning at Lucia's skeletal form.

Luica could hear the bolt coming. Whirling with a smoothe motion, she slashed a hand through the air like a knife amd sent the bolt of lightning into the sand. Spidery fragments of sand sizzled as they transformed into glass.

"Ah, it's playtime now, isn't it?" asked Lucia in a sinister voice.

Nina gulped. She only had one good hand, and no training when it came to combat spells. Her mother had left long before it had been time to teach her those. She wasn't even sure that anyone had learned any in her family for a long time. She was on her own. And judging by the orange of the sky, she did not have long before she was turned entirely skeletal.

She would die tonight. She accepted that fate almost immediately. It was what she deserved, after what she had done to the Rivera family. 

Nina felt a lump rise in her throat.

She didn't have much time to think on her grief, though, because a green wave of energy flew in her direction. No, not a wave. A wall.

She covered her head with her good arm and turned away, trying to make herself as little as possible. Only the wave of energy never struck her. She turned slowly around, and saw the neon green of a tail swooshing. Pepita's colors popped brightly against the deep color of the sand. Pepita gave a mighty roar as she her giant avian-feline feet slammed down to the ground.

Nina staggered to her feet in shock.

Lucia stood, frightened, staring up at the giant winged jaguar alebrije. Behind Lucia, she could see Héctor helping Imelda do her feet. The two skeletons watched Pepita stalk toward Lucia with widened eyes.

Lucia frantically sent a ball of fire at Pepita, but the cat swiped it out of the air and into the sand as if it was a silly playtoy. She was not taking any of Lucia's shit. Not tonight, the most sacred night for family, or any night for that matter.

You can't attack an alebrije or interfere with its purpose. True, they had manipulated Dante that evening, but they could not stop a mighty jaguar from defending her family. Which, apparently, Pepita considered Nina as such.

The thought alone was enough to bring tears to her eyes. After everything that Nina and Lucia had done that evening, Nina was sure that the Riveras would hate her guts. But even their alebrije still considered her family.

Lucia stumbled to the ground as she backpeddled. Pepita wasted no time in rearing up on her himd legs and pounding down on her front two, one on either side of Lucia's face. She roared loudly over the bruja, letting her know exactly how she felt about everything thts had happened that night.

Nina let a heavy sigh escape her lips, before an arm wrapped around her neck.

Ernesto breathed down her back. "Don't move," he threatened. 

Absolutely not, she thought angrily to herself. After sending Miguel and Socorro home, and neutralizing Lucia, she was not about to lose to a stupid thief of a mariachi, a poor excuse for a man who was not able to fight his own fights.

Nina was good at lights. While trapped inside of a magical cocoon, she had placed the flashlight in Héctor's destroyed shack for him to use to find Imelda. Even while trapped inside of Lucia's subconscious, she had lit the candles in the graveyard so Miguel could see when he awoke there. She had used light to find Miguel's drowning body in the obliterated shack. She could do this. She planted her feet deep in the sand, lifting a hand upward, snd placed her palm in front of de la Cruz's face. 

She murmured something and then suddenly it was like the sun was radiating out of her palm. Ernesto released her with a cry, and she crumpled to the ground as he staggered away, hands covering his face.

Nina looked up in time to see Óscar and Felipe walking up to her. She still couldn't tell them apart, no matter how many times Miguel had told her over the past few years. She was still a little convinced that he just lied every time he asked because he wasn't totally sure he knew himself.

"Defeated by a flashlight," one of the twins mumured in disgust, as the other muttered, "Typical."

Without warning, there was an arm underneath each of her armpits, and she was being carried over to the elder Riveras, past Pepita poising over Lucia's petrified form.

"She needs a blessing," one of the twins stated firmly as they approached Imelda and Héctor. Imelda and Héctor held each other by the arm as the twins approached with Nina in their arms. They unceremoniously plopped her down before the oldest Riveras. Nina held her injured arm to her chest as they began talking in their rapidfire banter. It was kind of overhwelming to be honest.

"She's basically family, right?" Felipe asked, guesturing at her with his open hands, like he was presenting a new invention.

Óscar nodded. "Give it a few years and we can tack on the name 'Rivera'."

"She technically wronged us," Felipe added diplomatically.

"But Pepita did protect her."

"Pepita thinks she is family."

"That's good enough for me."

"And we think that should be good enough for you too."

The twins nodded to each other, their spiel finished.

Imelda looked up at Héctor, who smiled at his wife. There wasn't really much time to debate, but they did not seem to need to. Imelda handed him a petal from her apron, and he took it in his hand. "Katerina, we give you our blessing," and gently brushed the now-glowing petal against Nina's forehead.

She vanished in a whiff of petals, just like every other time they had seen this happen. They all seemed to relax as a collective sigh of relief left their bodies.

"I could use a drink," Felipe said.

Óscar thought for a moment. His eyes were on the skeleton wandering up the beach a ways. "I could too, but we have busiess to take care of, by way of disgraced mariachi."

The boys began their chase of Ernesto. Pepita watched them with interest, remaining poised iver the now quietly grumbling Lucia. She seemed fairly confident that they had the situation handled as they tackled Ernesto to the ground and held his limbs down.

Imelda and Héctor gripped each other tight, the weight of the night resting on their shoulders. They had a lot to absorb, now. But they could handle that together as a family. Imelda leaned her head against her husband's shoulder as they watched the sun rise in sober silence.

\-------------------------------------  
Nina found herself reaching for Miguel, even in her subconscious. She felt like she was floating in darkness, like when she had been trapped in Lucia's magic. But then a light started to break the darkness. Nina focused on it, realizing she could feel it before she could see it. After a short while, the light became tangible and she found herself opening her eyes.

The Riveras were gone. In fact, everything was gone. She was laying on her back in what looked like an ocean of clear water that stretched as far as the eye could see. Her body lay in the water, but it wasn't cool or warm. It just was. Abover her lazy pink clouds floated, as if they were kissed by a gentle breeze and a touch of sunrise, but there was no sun to be found.

Nina sat up, water dripping down her torso. She caught a glimpse of her hand, realizing there were no longer bones there. Her eyes trailed up her arm and she realized she was no longer wearing the ruined slacks and blouse from earlier. She wore a blue dress she had never seen before now. As she stood, she realized the fabric did not drag with the pull of the water.

"Nina," a voice called.

Nina whirled around, and there stood Miguel. He was no longer wearing the plaid buttonup and jacket anymore either. He had gone through a wardrobe change of his own, now clad in a rust-orange charro suit that shimmered in the light, complete with a magenta tie like the one that he had lost earlier that day.

Nina's eyes trailed to his gut, where the bloodstain no longer blossomed on his abdomen.

"Tito," she said, voice sounding strange. They were most definitely dead. They were wherever you ended up after you died, waiting to be distributed somewhere in the Tierra de los Muertos. But yet again, Miguel had been cursed so that the moment that he died, he would be forgotten.

So they were either not dead, or they were both dead and cursed. This was either some sort of Pergatory or some version of Oblivion.

Miguel stepped toward her cautiously. "Where are we, Nina?"

She wasn't sure she knew. Instead of answering, she shook her head.

He sighed. He kept his distance, keeping at least two meters between them. "Do you know how to get out of here?"

"I don't know where we are, Miguel, why would I know how to get out of here?" she snapped.

This didn't make sense. She had seen Miguel vanish in a puff of petals. One of the Riveras had sent her away with a petal. Lucia had been captures by Pepita, who as far as Nina was concerned, was a guardian spirit. Any threat she might have administered after Miguel was blessed would have been negated, or at least suppressed.

"I'm sorry," she quickly amended, pressing her hands to her temples and closing her eyes tight. Her head pounded. "I just...I'm scared, okay?"

Miguel took a few steps toward her, the shallow water sloshing as he approached. Nina looked up at him.

"You're different," he commented quitely.

She scoffed, dropping her hands. "I spend the whole evening possessed by my aunt and you don't notice until she leaves my body," she deadpanned. Tears filled her eyes. "And now you say I'm different," she turned to the side, placing her hands on her hips.

"Possessed?" he asked. "That's--"

"Crazy?" she offered. "So is spending the whole evening trapsing through the Tierra de los Muertos." Brief pause. "Twice."

Miguel's face fell. "I didn't tell you about that."

She crossed her arms. "It didn't take much to figure out. You're just so damn sure of yourself. You don't fear death like everybody else does."

Miguel crossed his arms back. "There are other people who are 'damn sure' of themselves. And who don't fear death. You knew that because you're a witch. You're a witch and you didn't tell me."

Her expression turned sour as his did. "You didn't tell me you went to the Tierra de los Muertos."

He pointed a finger at his chest. "My secret was completely different. My secret didn't get anybody else hurt."

"Mine didn't either, until I tried to help out my tía." She sighed sharply, looking off to the side. "I found her skeleton under a mango tree and released her spirit. I didn't think she would spend the whole evening using my body as a meat puppet and torturing your family. I didn't mean to get you or anybody else hurt."

Miguel's face remained sour. "But they did. My little sister is probably traumatized. And I don't even know what you did to my Mamá Imelda. I'll never get to spend my afterlife with my family." He clutched his torso as the realization sank in. "And my Tía Rosita..."

She felt like he had slapped her. His family was the one thing he was most passionate about. She had not had as tight of a bond with her family as he did, but she knew he was in pain. She felt tears bubbling over. "I just wanted to help. I could feel someone calling me from the mango grove just outside of town. I just didn't know it would turn south when I dug up the bones of a long-dead bruja."

Miguel watched her facial expression shrink in on itself as she crumpled with grief and guilt. "I'm sorry," she whispered, holding herself tightly.

Miguel's face softened. He closed the distance between them. "Katerina," he whispered, slowly reaching out and placing a hand on her shoulder. It was an olive branch, like the hand he had extended to her earlier while still under Lucia's control.

She launched herself into his arms.

Instantly all the anger Miguel had felt moments ago melted as he gripped his novia tight. She sobbed into his chest. "I'm so sorry," bubbled out of her a few rimes.

Miguel held the back of her head, kissing just above her ear. "It's okay, we can figure this out, amor."

She pulled back to look at him. "How?" she demanded with a leaden heart. "How on God's green earth do you expect to fix this?" She waved her arms around. "I'm pretty sure that this is not natural, even for cursed people like us."

Miguel glanced at the sky. It had slowly started to shift in color, becoming brighter and brighter. Off in the distance he could see the sun's rays beginning to poke over the endless horizon. His eyes widened in realization.

"No, it's probably not," he said through gritted teeth. He gripped the side of his torso, where a small red stain had begun to form on his abdomen.

"Miguel?" Nina's eyes widened in terror.

He staggered, and she caught him as best as she could as his knees crumpled. They fell together, Nina catching most of his weight as they splashed down into the water. Her wrist screamed in pain as she caught his arm.

Miguel's voice was strained. "I think we're going back," he choked out. "Look, Nina, if I don't make it--"

"You will," she cut him off with force. She hated seeing him like this. It hurt her heart to see Miguel in pain.

He swallowed, a small smile on his face despite himself, "If I don't make it...It's okay. All right? It's not your fault." He clamped his eyes tight as another wave of pain pulled at his body. "I'm not mad," he huffed. "Neither are they." Referring to the other Riveras.

Nina opened her mouth to say something back to him, but sunlight flooded the side of her face, and suddenly she was gone. A moment later the light touched Miguel, and he was gone too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So Nina and Miguel ended up in the weird chatroom too. I got the idea for this weird space between life and death from watching Avengers: Endgame. I have absolutely no doubt in my mind that that weird beach Clint ended up on was inspired by some sort of purgatory. (Spoilers). But I liked the concept behind the endless waters and weird lighting. Just adds mystery to the joint.
> 
> Also even the twins were rooting for Miguelito and Nina to get married! Everybody loves her.


	17. El que anda por el medio de la carretera es golpeado por todos lados

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "He who rides the middle of the road is hit from both ends." 
> 
> -Loni bergqvist

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Amalia chooses sides. Bittersweet for her.
> 
> She is the one who has been giving the kiddies the weird supernatural chatroom.  
> (Sung like "welcome to the panic room" but exchange the words for "supernatural chatroom").
> 
> Sorry this was late; I had a bunch of work stuff come up. I'm back on schedule to update on Saturday this week.

Amalia opened her eyes and looked out towards the ocean. The sunlight danced on her face, bathing the white of her skull in bright orange. The sharp red lines on her cheekbones seemed to catch fire. "I'm done. They're back," she said, standing up. She dusted off her skirt and looked over to Pinche, who had sat down a few minutes after Amalia had started meditating. He had learned to stop asking questions after she had started to drag him all over Kingdom Come.

Amalia and Pinche stood on the shore, watching the Riveras gather Ernesto de la Cruz's bones into a satchel. The crazed músico protested loudly, but they cut him off with words or guestures. Amalia and Pinche could not hear them from far off, but they did not need to guess at what was being said.

Pinche turned to Amalia. "Why did you interfere in this?" he asked cautiously. They had abandoned the Amenecer Espectacular, the one event that Amalia cared about more than anything in this or any world. No doubt someone else had taken over, but they had up and left with no warning once the tremors had started in the Tierra de los Muertos. It had taken them hours to trace the tremors to an obliterated shack in Shantytown, and follow the Rivera boy to the beach.

Amalia had come to a full-stop the moment she set eyes on the witch-girl, but Pinche had been unsure why. She looked normal for the most part, except that her green eyes were rather striking, even from far off. And the fact that she was literally spewing magic all over the place. The paths she walked were littered with dying sparks of magic that flung with each footstep she made. Pinche had made the mistake of trying to pick one up and burning the shit out of his phalanges.

"Don't touch that," she had snapped at him too late, as they followed the bruja closely but not so close as to be detected.

He rubbed his fingers with a hiss, asking her for the third time that evening, "Why does this matter so much to you?"

She had waved off his question then. But now as they watched the sun rise over the Tierra de los Muertos, she held herself tight. "This is a family matter," she said finally, as the Riveras flew away with Lucia in the giant alebrije's mouth.

"De la Cruz does not have any family," Pinche said sharply, watching Amalia. He felt bad for griping at her, but she had been dragging him around the Tierra de los Muertos all night. First, to that stupid apartment she claimed used to belong to de la Cruz on the opposite side of town, and then to the shanty shack, and then to the beach...he just wanted to go back to the Amenecer Espectacular and shut down the place so he could go home and rest.

"No, but my familia adopted him," she said distractedly.

Pinche tilted his head at that, but he did not know how to ask about it. Instead, he found himself asking, "Who was the girl?"

She hugged herself tightly. "My hija. I died before I could see her grow up."

Pinche stuttered awkwardly. He was not good in emotional situations. But he wanted to help people any way he could. Perhaps that was why he had taken the Living Boy back to his family. Or why he had let Amalia take over the Amenecer Espectacular and its practices so many times. Or why he had let Amalia drag him all over the Tierra de los Muertos. "I'm....that's heartbreaking."

She scoffed. "Tell me about it." She turned around abruptly. "Let's get a drink, amigo." She walked by him, patting his chest twice as she passed by him.

Pinche stared after the enigma of a woman; he had thought she was much older; she had claimed she was on the wrong side of the Revolución when she was a young girl, and had died somewhere in the sixties. But now he wasn't so sure. It was hard to tell a skeleton's age, but now ass she spoke he looked at her with a whole new light. She couldn't have been more than thirty-five or so when she died. The girl on the beach was obviously in her twenties. So Amalia was a lot younger than she claimed. The fact that her bones were bright as the sun did not help her case, either, even if some people were able to ekep their memories alive for full centuries sometumes. The reason why she herself was so bright and remembered was because her own daughter was still alive.

Pinche followed her away from the beach, a thousand more questions burning in his mind.  
\-----------------  
Enrique glanced over at his papá in the passenger seat of the family pickup. Franco had dozed off about half an hour ago, unable to keep himself awake any longer. They had been awake for a long time; even Enrique was feeling the pull of sleep at the edges of his vision. As he approached the hacienda, he felt worry tug at his heart. Based on the last phone call he had had with his wife, neither of his children had returned home yet. It was after five in the morning.

The sun would be up soon.

Enrique turned the key in the ignition, and the big pickup's engine shuddered to a stop. He had gotten at least fifteen phone calls from worried family members, but hadn't been able to answer until around eleven, when he had gotten to his temporary room and found his phone on the nightstand. He and Papá had then taken the pickup and left for home. It had taken them roughly three hours to get back into Oaxaca, and another two to get back to the house. When he pulled up to the Rivera hacienda, the party had long since died down. And it should have; it was well into the morning when he pulled into the truck's usual parking spot.

Luisa came rushing out of the gate, her shoes sending up little clouds of dust. Dante came bounding after her, whining in protest that she was running. Before Enrique had even had a chance to stretch out his tired muscles, Luisa was in his arms. She had been completely stressed the entire evening. She had been through a whirlwind of emotions, and the lack of sleep had not been enough. She had left a brief message to him about speaking with one of the deceased family members, but her emotions had unravelled into worry.

Enrique held his wife tightly, reminded of the night when Miguel had disappeared the first time. He had taken the drive to think about it, but even his nerves were shot.

"Quique, they're still not back."

He nodded, pulling back to look at his wife. "Rosa called me about an hour ago to let me know what was going on."

She nodded, a bit of a stiff frown filling her face. After Miguel had returned the last time, Abel and Rosa had elected to tell Luisa about amiguel's last trip back. And Luisa had apparently not taken it well, scolding them to high heaven and yelling that they should have spoken as a family to decide what would happen next. Instead they had snuck Miguel through the compound like some sort of convict.

After a stunt like that, he was going to wish he was a convict, stuck in jail, away from whatever punishment they would come up with. She didn't care that he was an adult. 

Papá Franco walked up to the couple, briefly kissing Luisa on the cheek as he passed her. "Come on, mija, let's get inside." They made their way into the hacienda, Dante following behind. A soft glow of a few lights came from the house, but the patio lights had long since been turned off. The waking family appeared to have moved inside. They talked in hushed voices as Enrique walked into the kitchen.

Enrique made eye contact with his mamá as he lumbered into the kitchen, big bag weighing on his shoulder. Mamá Elena got up from her seat and wandered over, giving her son a kiss on the cheek. "Mijo, you look tired," she said.

"I could say the same for you, mamá." He looked around the room. Mamá Elena, Luisa, Berto, Carmen, Rosa and Abel all stared back at him. Rosa and Abel were the youngest in the room, but even they looked miserable. "All right, everyone, get some rest, please. I'll stay and wait for the niños."

Everyone protested at once, but he held up a hand. "You can stay awake if you like, but everyone here looks exhausted."

Rosa nodded. "I'm going to go wait for Miguel." Without another word Enrique's niece went out the door,p. She seemed to be feeling the emotions of the night weigh on her. Guilt was clear on her face as she walked past Enrique. Abel followed soon after her.

Luisa patted her hushand's chest. "I'll make some tea, mi amor. Why don't you get your things put away?"

He didn't dally. Enrique found himself lugging through the hall with his big duffel bag. It swished from side to side as he lumbered down the hall. As he turned to enter his and his wife's bedroom, however, it brushed against the wall and knocked a photo down.

His shoulders hunched up to his ears as he heard the glass shatter. Sighing, he opened the door, tossed the bag onto their bed and turned around to look at the photo on the floor.

Tía Rosita sat on the couch, a half-crocheted blanket in her lap. Elena and Victoria were sitting on the floor in front of her playing with dolls. Vaguely Enrique remembered that the blanket and the dolls were probably around the house somewhere. He stooped to pick up the frame, careful not to cut himself on the glass. He set the picture on the bedroom desk and then went back to the hallway to get some cleaning supplies out of the closet. After sweeping the floor and throwing away the trashed frame, he looked at the photo again. Rosita had been only fifty-three when she died. From what Mamá had said, the family had been devastated by her death, and especially so when shortly after Tía Victoria had passed on as well.

Enrique made his way back into the kitchen, the photo in his hands. His mamá eyed him. "What's that, mijo?"

He held it up. "I dropped Tía Rosita's photograph. I broke the frame."

Mamá Elena furrowed her eyebrows, reaching for it. "This was in the hall?" she asked. "I don't remember this photo."

Enrique shrugged as he sat down at the dining room table. Luisa sat beside him, wrapping an arm around his waist as he watched his mamá trace her fingers over the photo. Dante was outside; despite the fact that the family had accepted him as the family alebrije, he was not allowed indoors, even on Día de los Muertos.

"We'll put it up again tomorrow." She furrowed her eyebrows. "I recognize me and Tori, but I don't know who this woman is."

"That's Tía Rosita, mamá. Papá Julio's sister? You were kind of young then. Maybe you don't remember?" Elena nodded distractedly, but she looked like she was thinking too hard about it. "Mamá, don't worry. It's late; why don't you get some rest. Luisa and I will wait for Socorro. Abel and Rosa can wait for Miguel."

Mamá nodded, but she didn't go to bed right away. She stayed up for another half hour talking with Papá Franco before retiring to their room. They both kissed Enrique on the cheek, and he hugged them as they left for their room.

"Who is this woman, Quique?" Luisa asked, leaning over her husband's shoulder as he looked at the photo once again.

He furrowed his brow and looked at her. "My Tía Rosita? She's Papá Julio's sister." He thought for a moment. "I can't really remember what she used ro do. She might have worked at the shop, but I am not sure."

She shrugged; Enrique looked back at the photo with concern. Maybe the family had been spending so much time focusing on Héctor that they were beginning to forget the other members of the family? He and Mamá Elena would work that out in the morning.

In the meantime, he and Luisa dragged two foldable chairs into the ofrenda room. Dante followed the, and plopped down at Luisa's feet, waiting with them. They would be there the moment Socorro arrived in the Tierra de los Vivos. Both felt growing concern that it was well into the morning, but if they had worries they kept it to themselves. Luisa leaned against Enrique's shoulder, drawing strength from him, while Enrique did his best not to fall asleep as he stared at the bare ofrenda.

At around six-fifteen, the world began to wake as the sun began to lighten the sky. It wouldn't rise for another half hour, but it scared him more than anything that his little girl and his son were not home yet. Enrique stared forward with wide eyes as he let the worry wash over him. Even Dante trotted away, with a worried glance behind him. He whined twice before running out if the ofrenda room.

Luisa squeezed Enrique's hand. "Será bien, Quique," she assured him. "She'll come back." But as Luisa faced forward again, doubt showed in her brow. She was worried too. The worry became more palpable as the sky got lighter and lighter. Her grip on his hand got tighter and tighter with each passing minute, until it was a vice that rivalled they days she had given borth to their children.

The sun's rays began to poke into the ofrenda room, but Enrique refused to give up hope. Even as Luisa's eyes filled with tears and her chin quivered, he refused to give in.

Exactly six minutes after the sun's rays began to fill the ofrenda room, a flash of light filled the room, shining brighter than the sun. The light was so blinding Enrique put up a hand to defend against it, but it did little to stop the light from shining. A whirl of petals appeared before them, and from the petals emerged a human being.

Socorro.

She was laid down gently on the ground, face turned away from Enrique and Luisa. She didn't stir, but Enrique could see her breathing. They sat in stunned silence before rushing forward to hold their little girl. Relief swarmed them both. Luisa picked up her sleeping daughter and held her cclose as she stirred awake from her slumber.

Enrique wrapped his arms around his girls, letting a sob escape from him. Socorro was okay, at least. She held tightly to her parents, as she too began to cry.

"Papá? When did you get home?" She asked, meeting his eyes.

He stared hard at her face, as she pulled away from Luisa's chest. Luisa noticed the swelling of her nose, the darkness beneath both eyes.

"Mija, your face," Luisa cried, holding her daughter's cheeks. "Does it hurt?"

"No, I'm okay." She looked up, suddently remembering something. "Miguel! We have to get to Miguel!" She shoved away from her mother's resistant arms, making her way for the ofrenda room door.

Papá grabbed her wrist. "Mija, wait! Tell us what's going on!"

She turned to him, still tugging her arm. "Papá, it's Moguel. He's hurt. He's in the cemetery! Papá Héctor told me to go save him, we need to hurry--"

Enrique did not release her. "Stop, mija." She paused in her movements, a look of hurt crossing her features.

"Trust me, please! You guys never listen to me," she whined, tears spilling from her bruise-ringed eyes. She was desperate.

He rested a gentle hand on her shoulder. "I trust you, mija, but stay here, okay? I will go get Miguel." He gently released her, and he wondered if she would bolt again, but she stayed.

"Okay," she relented.

Enrique nodded and ran out of the ofrenda room. "Get the truck!" He called to his wife, who immediately began calling out for Berto to ask where the keys were. They had to be fast.  
\-----------------  
The sun was up now. Rosa leaned against Papa Julio's headstone, staring at the spot where Miguel had been only hours ago. Abel sat against the back gate, throwing stones steadily into the dirt. Small, crumbled cempatsuchitl petals stirred in the wind as they were disturbed, but they had long since lost their life. Neither one of them wanted to speak about what was on their mind;giving a voice to their fear would only shatter the denial they had between them. Neither wanted to acknowledge that it was past Miguel's deadline.

Rosa sat down when her body started to shake in fear. He still wasn't back, and the sun had risen already. Was he dead? Where was his body? Did she miss him coming back once again after she and Abel had sent him?

Her head whirred with thoughts and prayers. She hadn't prayed in a long time; her belief that there was nothing after death had kept her from reaching out to any power beyond her own. She thought it made her more fierce as a leader. But now, there was a power beyond her own, and she was frightened by it more than anything in the world.

She leaned her head back against the stone again and closed her eyes. She cried as realization dawned on her; Miguel wasn't coming back. She would never see him again. She still felt the guilt from their fight eat away at her, despite the fact that they had briefly apologized. The fact of the matter was, Miguel had unsuccessfully risked his life to save his little sister.

The wind changed a little, giving her a warm sensation. Her eyes snapped open as a cloud of cempatsuchitl petals whirled in front of her and slowly manifested into a being.

Miguel.

He was absolutely wrecked. Jacket torn, hair soaked, a deep red stain on his abdomen.

His eyes opened as the cloud finished transporting him, and he immediately fell forward with a grunt.

Rosa had never moved so fast in her life. She was at his side in less than a second, hugging her cousin close. "Thank God," she said earnestly, perhaps for the first time in her life.

Miguel hissed in pain and held his side. "Agh--Rosa--'m hurt."

She retreated and looked down at him. Sure enough, the dark stain in his side was getting darker. It was still wet. She hesitated for a moment, looking around, and then shoved her hand over his side and pressed down hard.

Miguel let out a hiss of pain and promptly passed out.

Rosa's mind went numb. She didn't know what to do now. Luckily, Abel was beside her, one hand on her shoulder and the other holding his cell phone to his ear. Rosa would have cried if she wasn't so stressed out.

"Pick up, pick up," he said into the phone, but he was left waiting. "What the hell happened to him?" he asked, looking down at Rosa's hands. They had been blue from the papel picado, and later stained purple from scrubbing the tombstones. Now they were a deep red as she pressed on Miguel's wound.

"He got stabbed or something," she said numbly. She found the prayers she had been mumbling earlier resurfacing. She was horrified.

Frantic footfalls at the edge of the cemetary alerted them someone was coming. But it wasn't who Rosa was expecting. Nina rushed up to them, panting.

"Nina?" Abel choked. "Where the hell have you been?"

Nina clutched her arm to her torso. "I was with them." Her face reflected back horror that Rosa didn't even want to ask about. Her clothes, like Miguel's, were soaked. Rosa knew that if there was water involved, it could not have been good for Miguel. But judging by the horror on Nina's face as she looked at her novio, it hadn't been that great for her either.

Abel kept the phone to his ear, but he looked over at Nina. "Do you need to go to the hospital too?"

She opened her mouth to speak but was interrupted when Enrique came sprinting up to them. His eyes went to Miguel first, and he immediately went to be beside Rosa. He knelt over his son, placing one hand on his neck and the other on his forehead.

Enrique looked over Miguel's features. Miguel's face was burned badly on one aide; the bandage had gotten lost somewhere. His temple and jaw had cuts in them. Who knew what else he was missing. His clothes were damp, like he had been swimming in them despite his fear of the water.

"He's grounded when he wakes up," Enrique grumbled, trying to be angry over being frightened. It just made his voice sound strained. "Nina, mija, come help me get his jacket."

Nina obeyed stiffly, coming around Miguel's other side. She gently pulled Miguel's arm out of the sleeve, careful not to jostle Rosa or Miguel too much. She gasped softly as she saw the bruises running up his arms, but she finished pulling the jacket off of Miguel. Bruises were on his neck too, she realized. She took the jacket and clutched it to her like a vice.

They heard a siren off in the distance. "He's never going back there again. I don't care what happens." Enrique's face twisted into anger, though it wasn't difficult to recognize the fear there. It made Rosa's heart break as his lower lip trembled. She hated seeing men cry. It meant there really was trouble.

"How did this happen?" Enrique asked sharply. He seemed to be aiming the question at Nina, despite his eyes never leaving his son's face.

Nina paused, eyes wide. As far as Rosa knew, he had never used this tone of voice with her, or anyone, really.

"He was attacked, by Ernesto," she said finally. Her eyes were distant, even as she looked at Enrique. "I'm really sorry, I mever knew that--"

"You got near that man after what happened last time?" he demanded, finally meeting her eyes. His anger was palpable. Everyone was already stiff from fear but the air seemed to get stiffer somehow.

Nina found her frustration bubbling as well. She had been thrust into chaos agains her will, and caused so much grief. She didn't know how she was going to tell them about Rosita or Imelda. She wondered vaguely if Socorro would. But it shouldn't rest one an eight-year old's shoulders to tell the story. She should be the one to do it.

"Miguel never told me about the Tierra de los Muertos. I found out about his trip to the Otherworld on my own." She knew she should not be arguing, but the pain in her arm, and how tired and guilty she felt, was all weighing on her. She couldn't keep it bottled any longer. "I fell for a trap set by one of de la Cruz's old friends..." she stopped talking, realizing her eyes were spilling over with tears.

A honking came from the edge of the cemetery. They all looked down and saw the truck. Luisa had jumped out of it and began to open the back doors. Socorro sat in the front seat. She didn't move from her spot, hugging herself and staring forward.

Abel put his phone in his pocket, giving up on the ambulance. He and hi Tio Enrique made determined eye contact. They were going to move Miguel themselves. Enrique put his arms under Miguel's armpits and Abel grabbed his feet. Rosa kept one hand on his belly and put the other underneath him. They hoisted him up. Nina followed behind them, feeling useless.

"Thank the Lord Miguel is scrawny as hell," Abel muttered as they carried him down the pathway toward the truck. Luisa climbed into the backseat and eased him in, keeping her hands on either side of his head. Rosa climbed into the back and held his side.

"Rosa, Abel, you're with me. Nina, Enrique, Socorro, you go in the car and get checked in," Luisa commanded, her voice sharp. It was so strange to hear her address them so firmly they didn't move for a second. "Now," she barked, climbing out of the back seat and getting into the driver's seat.

The family scrambled into action. Abel rode shotgun and directed Luisa on how to get to the nearest hospital on his phone. Rosa sat in silence on the floor of the truck, maintaining pressure on Miguel's torso. This was deffinitely the worst Día de los Muertos the family had ever had. This trumped the time that Miguel had gone missing for twelve hours by a longshot.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The parents are ab-solutely effing done. No more shenanigans. Nope. None. The end. Forever. They refuse.


	18. La Mañana Después

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The morning after

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm just gonna blame my lack of posting on the fact that I am American and the whole past week has been crazy at work.

Rosa's hands shook as she washed them. Blood ran into the sink as she scrubbed. She scrubbed so hard between her fingers that some purple ran through it too. It just ended up making a muddy brown mess that she had to rinse out of the sink. When she was done, she looked at her reflection. She was still wearing the same outfit from yesterday. The same jacket and pants with purple stains on them. Now as she inspected herself she saw flecks of blood as well.

Her eyes had bags under them, much like most of the other Riveras. Many of them had stayed awake well into the morning. And now at just after nine, she didn't think she could take much more.

Rosa dried off her hands, taking extra care to make sure she didn't have any blood left underneath her fingernails; she didn't want to freak anybody out. After one last look at her reflection she left the bathroom. Rosa made her way through the hallway back to the waiting room, where her brother, father , and Tío Enrique sat. Luisa, Socorro, and Nina were nowhere to be seen. Nina and Socorro must have been being examined. Tia Luisa was probably with them.

Abel and their papá sat across from them. Papá had his hands in his lap, folded like he was praying. Abel was on his phone, distractedly flicking through social medias but not absorbing anything. The others looked dasedly forward, waiting for answers.

Rosa joined them. Her papá had insisted on joining Tío Enrique when he came to grab Abel's car, insisting that he was a better driver even in crisis. Mama Elena had been the one to send away the ambulance; they had seen her waving them off as they drove past the hacienda on the way to the hospital.

Papá met Rosa's eyes and smiled sadly, getting up to hug her. She felt her eyes welling with tears again, even though she didn't want to cry again. She embraced him tightly, feeling the warmth of her father's heartbeat. Even though Rosa was a grown adult, she still felt comfort in her father's embrace. And he was worried about her, she could tell. He held her hand as they made their way over to the familia.

Rosa found herself watching the very outdated television. No matter what came on the screen, all she could think about was the blood.

They had been stupid. So very stupid for sending Miguel back when they knew there was danger. Of course, Miguel had not been very forthcoming with information. But she still felt a responsibility to him as his older cousin. She had always looked out for him, and he had looked out for her. She thought back on all those times she had covered for him when he was sneaking out to go to the plaza when they were children. She had been so eager to try to keep his meetings with his musician friends a secret. Now she wished they had consulted the family. They could have come up with a plan. Maybe then this wouldn't have happened.

After about fourty minutes, the doors to the lobby opened. Luisa entered through them, holding Socorro on her hip. Tio Enrique was the first to his feet; he leapt up and walked to his girls, giving them both a kiss. Socorro had a bandage on one arm and a small white strip across her nose, presumably to help her breathe.

Enrique kissed his wife and then kissed his daughter on the cheek. Enrique asked something that Rosa could not hear, and then Tia Luisa shook her head sadly. Tio Enrique's facial expression fell, but he reached over to take his daughter from his wife. They walked over to the family together.

Everyone sort of stood up for an awkward moment. It was papa who broke the silence. "Is there any news on Miguel?" Berto asked hopeffully.

Tia Luisa shook her head. "I asked the doctor after we were done with Socorro's x-ray and stitches. But he said Miguel was still being worked on."

"Stitches?" Asked Abel.

Luisa nodded. "She was slashed with a knife on the back of her wrist," Luisa answered softly.

Berto bawked. "He hit a little girl?" He demanded, his voice becoming clipped with anger.

Abel furrowed his brow. "He threw Miguel from the top of a building when he was twelve," he said bitterly. "Why not stop becuase she's only eight?"

The family stared at him, excluding Rosa. Miguel had never disclosed the fact that he had been tossed from the stadium roof to any of the others, apparently. And Rosa could understand why. He had been traumatized the first few days after he had come back, hardly speaking to anyone. It had scared her, to the point where she had yelled at him to explain what was going on. Rosa didn't know that Abel knew, but they had been getting closer so she wasn't surprised.

"What do you mean?" Asked Luisa. "Ernesto tossed him in a cenote. nat from a building." She looked like she wanted to be right.

Rosa found herself speaking. "It's true. Ernesto tossed him from the top of a building the first time he crossed the veil."

Berto put a hand to his forehead, turning to face away from them in disbelief.

"You didn't tell us?" Demanded Tia Luisa, looking between Abel and Rosa.

Rosa felt herself wanting the floor to open up and swallow her whole. She couldn't think of a single excuse for what to say.

"And you let him go back?" Tio Enrique demanded quietly but fiercely. Socorro held tightly to his neck, staying quiet but absorbing everything that was happening around her. "You knew that man had attempted to kill Miguel and you still let him go?" He looked between his niece and nephew. Rosa could not remember a time he had been this angry with them.

Rosa mumbled, "We didn't want to worry you."

Berto turned back to acknowledge his older kids, a shocked expression on his face. Rosa hated the way he looked at them. Guilt ate at her insides.

Enrique ran a hand over his face, then put it back against Socorro's back. "You didn't want to worry me? And now both of my children have been put in the hospital becuase of that man?"

"It was my fault."

The voice was so tiny that at first Rosa didn't register it. But then her eyes went to Socorro, who was staring at her father.

"Mija, what?" Luisa asked, stepping toward her daughter. "What do you mean it was your fault?"

Socorro looked at the others, before finding her mother's eyes again. "Ernesto stabbed Miguel. I ran away from Nina to get to him. Ernesto grabbed me because I was stupid. And then Nina exploded, and then I got cut by the knife." She looked down, breathing in a shaky breath. "If I didn't run toward Ernesto, he wouldn't have hurt me when Nina exploded."

Rosa's mind raced. "What do you mean, Nina exploded?"

Socorro took in another shaky breath. "Nina...there was something wrong with her. She was different. Like she wasn't herself." Her eyes flicked to Rosa. "She was weird and magic and scary and her eyes were the wrong color and she helped hurt Iguel and--" she stopped midsentence, bursting into tears. Socorro threw her arms around her papa and cried.

"I think we should take a break," said Luisa firmly, looking around the family. Her brows settled somewhere between annoyance and anger when she looked at Rosa and Abel. "We'll discuss everything that happened when we get home." Luisa and Enrique turned around to go sit down.

Papa stood in front of his older children. "How long have you two known?" He asked quietly.

"A few years," Rosa answered softly, followed by Abel's, "A few months."

Berto shook his head. He walked back over to his brother and sister-in-law, sitting back in his spot in front of them.

Rosa and Abel looked at each other for a moment before making their way back over to the family. Rosa could feel her family's judgement from her seat. She hated how she felt; the guilt ate at her now more than ever. Rosa went back to staring at the television set, but her thoughts were too scattered to focus on anything anyone was saying.

Socorro had been administered some light pain medicine. She sat in her father's lap, drifting in and out of consciousness. But even stubborn Rivera genes were no match for pain medicines and a lack of sleep. After about a half hour of fighting to be awake, she konked out, leaning against her father's neck.

Nina came into the lobby about a half hour after that, her arm in a sling. She emerged from the same doors Luisa and Socorro had come through and took one look around the lobby at the stressed out patrons. Her eyes finally landed on Rosa. Rosa made her way over to Nina and hugged her, being careful of her arm.

"What happened?" Rosa asked Nina quietly, resting a hand on her best friend's shoulder.

Nina watched Rosa, conflicting emotions on her face. Rosa could tell she was deciding whether or not to tell her something, which made her heart ache in a way she could not identify. They told each other everything.

"I did something really really bad," Nina finally conceded. Her face was riddled with guilt. "I hurt Miguel and Socorro. And your family on the other side."

Rosa wanted to ask what she could have done that was so bad, but a hand landed on her shoulder. Rosa and Nina looked up to see Enrique's face. "Not now, niñas. We're here for Miguel now. We'll talk about it later, as a family, like we said."

Nina nodded solemly. Rosa burned with a fresh wave of guilt as well as morbid wonder; what had Nina done that was so horrific she couldn't say it aloud to her best friend?

They walked back over to the other Riveras; Enrique sat by Luisa and Socorro, wrapping an arm around his wife's shoulders. Luisa stared forward with worry creasing her brow. Rosa sat beside her father once again and leaned on his shoulder. Nina sat on Luisa's other side, needing to draw comfort from the other woman.

Luisa reached over and squeezed Nina's knee lightly with a weary smile. "It will be okay, mija, I promise."  
\------------------------------------  
It was another hour of nervously waiting. Luisa, Enrique, Socorro, Berto, Abel, Rosa, and Nina bit their nails, prayed, sulked, or stared off into space as the hours dragged by. Socorro remained asleep in either Luisa's or Enrique's lap, depending on who was more tired. Everyone was silent as they waited.

Nina ended up taking some of he pain medication because her arm was hurting so badly. The doctors had placed it into a splint and then in a sling, but she couldn't stand the pain now that the adrenaline and endorphins had run their couse through her body.

At long last, a doctor came into the waiting room. The family had been edgy and jumped at nearly every name called. "La Familia Rivera?" She called finally into the room, inspecting faces.

They all abruptly stood. Enrique gently told Socorro that she was to wait with Rosa so he and Luisa could approach the doctor nervously.

"I'm Doctor Andrés. You are Miguel's parents, right?" The woman smiled at the two Riveras, who met her gaze with blood-shot tired eyes and nodded. The doctor had short curly hair and a kind smile. She held a clipboard at her side and she wore a long white coat over standard blue scrubs. "I have been working with Miguel. I would like you to follow me, por favor."

Nina did not like the sound of that. In all the teles she had watched, they took you back to the back office to tell you bad news. If Miguel was okay, they would have told them in person, in front of everyone else. The doctors only relayed good news in the lobby, so as not to worry other patrons.

Luisa looked over at Nina, and gestured for her to get up. "Ven acá, mija," she said quietly. Nina hesitated. They still considered her as part of the family on this side of the bridge. But if they knew what she had done...who knew what they would think. She already could not believe how easily the deceased Riveras had sent her home; maybe they just felt sorry for her.

Nina stood up and joined Enrique and Luisa. They followed the doctor through the door, down a hallway to an office. Nina was thrown off by this; she had expected to be taken to Miguel's hospital room.

They were definitely about to be told bad news. Nina could feel it. Luisa sat down in one of the chairs the doctor offered. Enrique gruffly offered the second chair to Nina and stood behind Luisa, with one hand on her shoulder and one hand on Nina's. It looked like he needed support. Nina clasped her hands in her lap, staring at the doctor with earnest.

Doctor Andrés held a file in her hands. "Miguel Rivera is in stable condition after a two hour-long surgery. He has over fifty stitches, some on the inside of his abdomen."

"He's all right though?" Luisa asked then.

The doctor hesitated. Enrique's grip on Nina's shoulder tightened microscopically.

"He is stable. You can visit him, but there are some things I need to disclose about his condition." She looked at Enrique and Luisa. "Assuming you are the patient's parents, and you," he said looking at Nina, "are the patient's good friend Katerina, you are all on his clearance list, according to my secretary."

"Clearance list?" Luisa questioned.

"Secretary?" Enrique asked.

The doctor nodded. "Because of the fame of the patient in question, a disclosure contract was drawn up before he even entered the hospital, sent from his agent. He was given a list of people to include in his disclosure list, and the three of you are on it."

"How did his agent even know he went to the hospital?" Enrique asked Luisa, who shrugged.

"Should we get a lawyer?" asked Nina, feeling like she was walking into a trap.

The doctor shook her head, her tight curls bobbing with the motion. "No, no, it's nothing like that. Miguel Rivera already has a lawyer through his agent. They intend to press charges and run a full investigation on whomever did this to Miguel and the other victims of the attack." Her eyes trailed to Nina's arm in its sling.

Nina's mouth went dry.

Luisa and Enrique exchanged looks. "We wish them luck finding the culprit," Enrique said finally. "Can we talk about my son now?" he asked impatiently.

The doctor cocked an eyebrow at him suspiciously. "Very well. Due to the trauma to Miguel's thoracic region and the proximity to the heart, the patient went into cardiac failure."

Enrique released Nina's shoulder for which she was grateful, because his grip had steadily been getting tighter. Nina's stomach did a flip and her head whirled. She felt like she might throw up.

"He had a heart attack," Luisa murmured aloud in horrified wonder. She lifted a hand to cover her mouth in shock.

The doctor bobbed her head from side to side. "Sort of. Most patients who suffer from cardiac arrest either have pre-existing conditions or very unhealthy diets. Miguel Rivera apparently has neither. The trauma to the abdomen, in combination with the blood loss caused him to have a cardiac event." She looked at them seriously. "He was down for roughly a minute, but we were able to revive him." She looked at each of their faces. Nina stared forward, trying toabsorb how close her novio had come to dying and becoming dust. "He was very lucky. He will be unconscious for a while. Which is to be expected after the beating he took."

The doctor opened the file in her hand. "I do have some irregularities to his case, however."

Nina gaped. "Other than his heart stopping at twenty-one years old?" she asked incredulously. Nina was not good in a crisis, she knew. She didn't mean to start to take off the doctor's head, but she couldn't help it. She was filled with so much worry and guilt. Her wide eyes looked crazed because of her lack of sleep.

The doctor nodded, leaning forward at the desk so that her nametag touched its surface. "We did an MRI on his entire body to see if we had missed anything, any injuries or the like. His injuries were extensive," she added, looking over her glasses at the Riveras. "And we found something...strange." She set the file down in front of Luisa and Enrique. It was open to a catscan of Miguel's skull.

Luisa picked it up in awe as she stared at the black and white image. It was extremely disturbing.

"Has anyone else seen this?" Enrique asked then.

The doctor shook her head. "It seemed... imperative... due to the nature of this case, to keep these images confidential. "

Luisa looked back at her son's catscan. "This is for real," she said, finally. Enrique gently took the bottom half of the pile of photos out of her hands to look through their son's injuries. He winced as he came across the list of contusions and fractures.

"As real as you or me," the doctor said. "We want to do an investigation into the nature of these markings and how they got onto your son's skull."

Luisa stared at the doctor. "I'm assuming they are not recreational," she said. "He would have scarring on his face if that were the case. Even the best plastic surgeons leave marks. He's pretty wealthy, but no amount of money can remove scarring."

The doctor nodded. "Which is why we want to examine the nature of these marks. What is on your son's skull is...remarkable. Unheard of. I wish to examine your son's case further. I would like to scan other members of your family for--"

"I'm afraid we aren't interested," Luisa said with her her jaw clamped. She stood abruptly, giving the doctor a dirty look. "We would like to see our son now," she added bruskly, picking up the pile of images.

Nina felt a weird tension in the air between the two of them, but she could not place where it was coming from. She had to have been missing something. Apart from the fact that apparently Miguel had strange markings on his skull.

The doctor nodded curtly. "I can respect that. I'm tremendously curious, but I understand your wish for confidentiality." She stood up and opened the door for the Riveras. They walked through without a word, and were led down another hallway.

The doctor stopped outside the door to room A113. "Here we are," she said, her tone clipped. Nina guessed it was because they had turned down her wish to experiment or test on Miguel, but she didn't care. She wanted to see her novio. "He is connected to oxygen tanks, but it is just to help him breathe, all right?"

Enrique nodded, and Luisa gripped his arm. Nina held her arms tightly to her chest. They went through the door to the room.

Miguel lay against the bed, looking smaller than she had ever seen him. Sure enough, an oxygen tank was beside his bed, with a tube that hooked up to his mouth and nose. Several monitors were beside him, and a machine beside him beeped with every heartbeat. He wore a hospital gown, through which several wires protrided, hooked up to his chest and the machine beside him.

The bruises he had been hiding earlier were now visible. The handprints on his neck and wrists were now in the open, as well as several new scrapes and the like. His cheek had been rebandaged. Miguel looked so pale. The flourescent lighting in the room exaggerated the lines in his face, making him look sickly. Dark circles ringed his eyes. it was horrifying to see Miguel, so normally full of life, on a hospital bed looking almost dead.

Luisa and Enrique approached gently, as if they were afraid to wake him. Nina's heart leapt into her throat as she saw her novio again. She had done this to him. She had done this to him and it was her fault he had almost died.

"Please refrain from hugging or moving him, as he has stitches in his abdomen," the doctor warned, pulling the door shut. She took the clipboard at the base of Miguel's hospital bed and recorded some data from the monitors beside him. She clicked her pen open and jotted them down, then stepped back. "I'll give you some privacy," she said briskly to them, and promptly left the room.

Luisa gently rested a hand on her son's forehead. "My baby boy," she whispered, gently moving his hair back from his forehead. Tears bristled in Nina's eyes as she watched Luisa fuss over her son; she felt like she was intruding on a family moment. She didn't deserve to be here.

Enrique moved to the other side of the hospital bed. As far as Nina could remember, she had never seen Miguel's papa cry. He seemed like a very sturdy man. Now he wept for his son, gently pressing his forehead to Miguel's. It made her heart ache.

No one had been there for her from her own family. No one had cared when she had gone missing that evening. No one had come after they had called her family.

She knew she should have stayed there til she could at least touch Miguel, or give his cheek a kiss, or maybe to hold his hand, but she could not. She didn't have it in her.

She was a terrible person. She didn't deserve to be here. Before anyone could say a word, Nina was out the door, rushing for the restroom. She made it into a stall just in time to retch into the toilet.

After she was done, she rested her forehead against the seat. She felt awful, inside and out. Nothing she could do or say would ever resolve what she had done, possessed or no. Rosita was still gone. Imelda was still silent. Miguel would be forgotten the moment he died. He wouldn't get to spend his afterlife with his family, like he had wanted to. He would be forgotten the moment he died.

Nina leaned back against the stall door. She knew that being on the floor of a hospital emergency room's bathroom was probably the dirtiest place she could be, but she didn't have the strength to stand. Every fiber in her body was exhausted from the night. Her arm wasn't hurting her now, but she had the pain medication to thank for that.

Come to think of it, that was probably why she had thrown up. She hadn't eaten that night at all. Pain medication on an empty stomach was a terrible combination.

The door to the restroom opened. "Nina?" Came Rosa's voice. "Are you okay?" She asked.

The stall doors were several centimeters off the floor, so of course Rosa could see Nina sitting on the floor of the hospital like a baby.

Nina sighed. She slowly stood, amazed at how wobbly she felt on her feet. She turned around and opened the stall door.

Rosa's face was filled with worry. "Nina, honey, are you okay?" Her voice was just so thick with concern it made Nina's head swirl.

Nina took a step toward Rosa, her head feeling a bit off. "I saw him, I saw him, and it's my fault," she whimpered.

Rosa put out her arms. "I know, Ninita, it's okay," she consoled, wrapping Nina in a hug. "It's okay, he's gonna be all right, okay?" Of course, Rosa didn't know that, but she just wanted to console her friend.

Nina sobbed. "It's all my fault," she whispered. "I did this to Miguel. I got him killed and now he'll never forgive me." She leaned heavily on Rosa, who had a difficult time holding up her weight. "He was so close to just being nothing," she whimpered. "He could have just vanished and it would have been all my fault. I got your tia and your tatarabuela blown up and he still didn't want to blame me. He still thought I could fix it. He still believed in me," she cried, sagging further into Rosa.

Rosa held tightly to her friend, not understanding a word she was saying. But Nina didn't have a chance to explain because the next thing she knew, Nina was limp in her arms.

Rosa looked around. "Mierda."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Seriously: if you ever drown and survive, make sure you get medical attention even if you survive. It is very inportant. In some instances your lungs can fill with fluid and it can be very bad for you.
> 
> My heart goes out to Nina and Rosa here. I got into some trouble when I was a kid that got some buddies hurt. It wasn't directly my fault but if I had changed any of my actions these kids would not have been hurt. My whole fam was mad at me for a while afterward. It was awful.


	19. Todos somos perdedores

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The deceased Riveras meet up at home after a long evening.
> 
> Nina wakes up in the hospital

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We are all losers
> 
> Sorry for not updating in so long! I have had a hell of a month. Wedding, almost losing my job, moving, quarantining TWICE...it's been a month.

Victoria watched as the Tierra de los Muertos lit up with the sunIght. It bathed the now sleeping land with orange light, as some of the early birds rose to get the day started. She had not heard anything from her family members about Miguel, Socorro, or Nina, but for her own sanity she had to assume that they had made it back across the veil.

She couldn't take another loss tonight.

Coco and Victoria had remained at the Department of Ramily Reunions all night and through the morning, just as Héctor had told them to do. Victoria had asked for updates about Rosita but they had remained unchanged. FORGOTTEN. The last time she had been in the Tierra de los Vivos she had overheard a couple of the older generation referring to Tía Rosita. There was no way they had just all forgotten about her. Her recipes were in the Rivera cookbook for Pete's sake!

FORGOTTEN. She hoped that her family could enlighten her about what had really happened. Maybe it was just a glitch. When she had asked for an update regarding Miguel's status that morning after the sun rose, the document had given her absolutely nothing.

STATUS: UNKNOWN.

Status unknown! How reliable was a system for tracking souls if it couldn't even tell you where they were or what condition they were in? When she had checked Socorro Rivera's status it had said the same thing. 

Mamá had been the one to ask the clerk what the status update meant but the clerk had been unable to determine the meaning. "The truth of the matter," she had said, "is that we just don't know what has happened to them." It had left Victoria feeling a little sick, and Mamá had been the one to decide that they head home together to reunite with the others.

"Maybe they have some answers," she said, rubbing her daughter's arm with a sad smile.

Victoria and her mamá entered the iron gate around the Rivera compound and walked up the path silently. It was well into the daytime now, and neither of them knew what to say to console the other. Victoria had already wept for a long time at the Department of Family Reunions. She didn't think she could spare another tear. She and her mamá still had to disclose what they had found out earlier that evening to the other Riveras. Although, it was likely that they had an idea of what had happened to Rosita considering that Imelda was with her. Victoria and Coco were not.

Victoria pushed open the door of her family's lovely multi-tiered house. It resembled the same foundation of the Rivera hacienda in the Tierra de los Vivos, except with each new generation a new floor was added. The lowest floor was for the whole family, complete with a kithcen, small workshop, dining room, and family room. The second floor belonged to Imelda, Hector, and the twins. The third floor was Coco, Julio, and Rosita's floor and so on. Victoria lived alone on the top floor but she had been preparing space for her sister and Franco for a long time. She knew that the floor above hers would end ip being wider and stand out, but it didn't bother her; half the Tierra de los Muertos was like this.

Some of the family members were sitting at the dining table when Victoria stepped inside. She looked at her family and tried to swallow the lump emerging in her throat. Imelda, Héctor, Óscar, and Felipe appeared to be pouring over several sheets of paper, trying to make a plan. Victoria thought about the three updated printout sheets she had gotten.

STATUS: UNKNOWN

STATUS: FORGOTTEN

The phraseS exhoed in her mind loudly.

"Mama, Papa, we're home," Coco called into the house, hanging up her coat in the front room. It was the first thing she had said in a long time.

Imelda and Hector were on their feet first, practically running around the table to hug their daughter and granddaughter.

Hector hugged his daughter severely. "Mija I'm so glad you're all right." He hugged Victoria just as tightly. "We have had...some things have happened," he said, pulling back and then looking at Imelda, who stood silently off to the side. Imelda looked as shell-shocked as Victoria felt. 

Victoria looked at Inelda's charred dress and loose, damp hair. What on earth had happened to her? Had it had something to do with Rosita? As she looked around the family, she noticed they all looked like they had been in a hurricane or something. Her papá was still absent, but everyone else looked absolutely wrecked. Mamá Imelda looked the worst.

"What happened?" Victoria asked finally.

It was Héctor who spoke up first. "We're going to wait for Julio to return before we discuss what happened. As a family," he said. Victoria looked at how crestfallenn her Papá Héctor was. It broke her heart to see him so downtrodden when he was normally so full of life.

Whatever happened was probably as bad as she had worried it to have been. She wondered about the status reports for her family members and felt her heart drop to her gut.

"We think you should see this," Coco said from behind Victoria, handing him the two sheets of paper.

Héctor held them up, at a small distance away so he could read them clearly. Imelda read over his shoulder, mouthing words along with him. Imelda pointed at something on the longest sheet and looked at Héctor wordlessly. Understanding danced behind his eyes and he nodded to her.

"Is Rosita really forgotten?" Victoria asked, unable to bear their silence anymore. She had practically shouted the question.

Óscar and Felipe had made their way to the front room, as well. They bore hardened expressions, looking to their older sister. Victoria's fears were confirmed when Imelda looked directly at Victoria and nodded her head slowly.

The family went silent for a few moments as everyone processed this information. Imelda held tightly to Héctor's arm--since when had she become so needy and quiet? The twins leaned against the wall in defeat. 

"What about the chikdren?" asked Coco with a tight voice. "What does 'unknown' mean? Mamá, you were with Miguel, what happened?"

Imelda's eyes widened, and she looked at Héctor for help. She looked like a dear in the headlights.

"She can't speak," answered Héctor after a few seconds. "She was cursed."

Victoria bawked. This was not the time for a joke! The family was broken up! She had spent hours and hours sitting in a public space having a breakdown and Héctor had the gall to joke with her? And Imelda didn't contradict him; if he were joking she would have snapped at him. But Imelda stayed quiet, crossing her arms over her chest and looking at the floor. Victoria couldn't think of a response to their behavior.

Luckily she didn't need to; the door swung inward and Julio walked through.

He seemed to shrink in on himself as he looked at his family members; all of them were scared, except maybe Victoria who looked more angry than anything else. They all looked like they had been through hell, some more than others. "Um, Pepita is outside, scratching the post. I couldn't get her to stop."

Imelda frowned, walking past him to go to her alebrije. She looked relieved that she had something to do to get out of this tense spotlight. Normally Imelda met discomfort with fortitude and a can-do attitude. But not today. Victoria watched her go, her mouth wide.

"Papá is home now," she murmured, turning back to Héctor. "Can we talk about what happened? And no joking," she warned.

Héctor relented with a sigh. "Okay. Let's go sit around the table."

Finally they were going to get some answers. But now Victoria knew that they would not be the ones she wanted to hear.

\-----------------------

Rosa stayed in Nina's hospital room that night; after she had collapsed her doctor had decided to keep her overnight. Nina had probably overdone it with taking strong pain medication on an empty stomach. Now Rosa sat with her as a nurse brought her a tray full of snacks. It wasn't like she could do anything to help Miguel's situation anyway.

The doctor had been concerned about Nina's hydration and hooked her up to an IV. Rosa watched the television, trying not to think about all the activity she had done that day involving her cousin and best friend running around the Tierra de los Muertos. Now they were both in the hostpital and she felt like she needed to take an entire day to just process everything and rest.

Nina stirred and looked around, her eyes falling on the muted television. She tried to focus on it, but her attention was drawn instead to Rosa, who stood to take her best fiend's hand.

"Hey," Rosa whispered. "How are you feeling?"

Nina furrowed her brows. "Tired. Thirsty." She looked at Rosa, who was still wearing the outfit from the day before. "What day is it?"

Rosa sighed. "The third, still. Around dinner time. They might kick me out soon. Visiting hours are almost over."

"Is Miguel okay?" 

Rosa sighed. "They let us go see him, but he isn't awake yet. They say that as long as he rests, he will make a full recovery." She chortled to herself. "I don't think that the doctor was supposed to tell us that, but between Tía Luisa and Mamá Elena's insistence, I don't think he had a moment's peace. It was quite hilarious."

Nina looked at the arm hooked up to an IV. "You know I declined treatment on purpose."

Rosa plunked herself into a chair beside Nina's bed. "You forfeited that right when you collapsed in my arms in the bathroom," Rosa deadpanned. Her tone was somewhat chiding but mostly comical. She was so relieved that Nina was okay. She hadn't really known what to do when Nina had collapsed in her arms. She had just barely been able to carry her back out to the waiting area before some helpful nurses put Nina's unconcscious body onto a bed. 

"Can I have some water?" Nina asked, eyeing the pitcher on the table beside her bed.

Rosa complied, walking to her other side and pouring a glass of water for Nina. It was pretty warm by now, but Nina was still grateful as her best friend handed her the glass.

Rosa watched her drink. "What happened last night?" she pressed her lips together. "All we got was Miguel appearing in the cemetary looking like he had run through fire and then him reappearing in even worse condition. And Socorro won't tell us anything."

Nina furrowed her brows at this information. It had not crossed her mind to wonder about when Miguel had vanished when she threw a fireball at him, if he had encountered anyone from the Living World at that time. But it didn't seem like he would be able to give up any information until he woke up. And apparently Coquis was not willing to offer anything either.

Rosa sat down in her seat again, watching Nina swirl the water in her glass. She reached a hand over and placed it on Nina's braced hand gently. "If you don't want to talk about it, that's fine. I am...l was just worried about you." She looked off to the side, and her eyes were brimming with tears.

Nina was touched; of course they would have been worried about her, but Rosa was expressing specific concern for Nina herself. She hadn't heard anything from her family. It looked like no one had been there to check on her. She had almost died and she was not surrounded by loved ones. Instead it was her best friend and an air of worry.

Nina frowned. "I can tell you, but you're bot going to like it." She tried to keep the bitterness out of her voice, it seemed, but she failed spectacularly. Was it wrong to want more people around you at the hospital? Nina's mother had long since vanished, and her father had been out of the picture for who knew how long. Was it ungrateful to wish for someone aside from her best friend to be there?

Rosa brushed some of Nina's hair out of her face, not quite picking up on Nina's irritable demeanor. They had always been comfortable around each other. From the day that Miguel had first fixed her boot in the family shop, she had been very fond of Nina. They had been there for each other for everything throughout the past few years, including Rosa's absolutely heartwrenching breakup last week. Now Rosa would be here for Nina, no matter what came out of her mouth.

"Maybe not, but you're my family, Nina. I'm here for you. Okay?" She raised reassuring eyebrows at her friend.

Nina smirked, but her face fell amost immediately. "I should tell you now that I have been holding something secret from you. For a long time."

She watched for Rosa's reaction but the girl sat quietly, waiting.

Nina breathed out through her teeth. "Okay. I'm a witch." She didn't pause to survey Rosa's reaction, instead barrelling through her explanation without looking at her best friend's face. "I'm a witch and I spent the evening possessed by my Tía Lucia, who apparently hates your family's guts. She used my powers to kidnap Socorro, attack Miguel multiple times, and help Ernesto de la Cruz get revenge on Héctor Rivera." She finally looked over at Rosa, who stared with a wide mouth.

"That's not...I wasn't...did you--?" Rosa closed her mouth and swallwoed. "That's not what I expected you to say."

"I wasn't going to say anything. I was almost wanting that part of my life to be muted. It's only ever caused me grief."

Rosa nodded. "I can see why you would want to hide it. My Mamá Imelda loved music apparently but she hated the fact that Héctor left with Ernesto de la Cruz so she made the famous music ban." She shook her head, smiling.

"You don't seem to mind this that much," commented Nina warily.

Rosa shrugged. "I guess I always knew you had something going on with you. But I figured you would tell me when you were ready. I am still trying to process the fact that there is an afterlife right now, let alone the fact that my best friend is a witch and has interacted with my dead ancestors. And then there is the whole Miguel thing." She put her head in her hands, looking overwhelmed. She stayed like that for so long that Nina felt like saying something, but after a while Rosa turned to Nina again. "What happened when de la Cruz kidnapped Socorro? Did you make a deal to get her back?"

Nina shook her head. "That malnacido would not have listened to reason. There was no way this could have ended well."

Rosa nodded. "I figured. Miguel was...when he came back around 2 he was scared and worried, and hurt, but he wouldn't tell us what had happened." 

"I threw a fireball at him."

Rosa gaped. "A--a fireball. Like a literal ball of fire. At Miguel." Her eyes flicked around the room for an explanation or some sense of reason before settling back on Nina again. "Why on Earth--"

"I was possessed!" Nina fired back. Her shoulders slumped. "I'm sorry, I'm just...I'm horrified by what I did."

Rosa nodded. "It's okay, Nina. Miguel is going to forgive you. It wasn't your fault that all this happened." But even as she said the words, Rosa watched Nina's face fall. Things were much worse than she thought, so much worse.

Nina's face crumpled into grief, her bitterness gone. "It's all my fault."

Rosa felt the need to comfort overwhelm her something fierce. She had been told by Mamá Elena that she had inherited Mamá Coco's ability to console like an angel. It had maade her swell with pride whenever she was able to comfort her brothers or her cousins or even the kids at school. But now as she wrapped her arms gingerly around Nina she felt nothing but dread. 

Nina was normally so energetic and loving. It was heartwrenching to see her so withered. She sobbed as Rosa held her, continuing the breakdown she had started earlier.

Rosa scooted onto the bed, holding Nina close as she cried. Nina accepted the comfort, finally being able to process everything that had happened on Día de los Muertos. She felt violated and so so guilty. Rosa was familiar, offering protection in a place that dwarfed her spirit and made her feel so helpless.

After a few minutes Nina stopped crying. "I did something worse than that."

Rosa held her arm around Nina. She had a hard time imagining worse than throwing a fireball at her cousin. But then Nina told her what she had done to Mamá Imelda, Tía Rosita, and Miguel's soul. And her perspective was widened and deepened on the worst things you could do to someone.

Rosa herself had not known about--or rather, believed in-- the afterlife that her ancestors now lived in until the evening before. Her head was still whirling with thoughts and prayers and so so many questions. But even she had entertained in her fantasies as a child what it would be like to spend her afterlife with her relatives. To be beside Mamá Imelda as she instructed Rosa on the best ways to sew a shoe together. On how to financially prepare for slow months. Encouragements. Love that she no doubt shared with her family members.

To have that taken away--

Now she understood why Nina felt so guilty. Mamá Imelda was silenced forever. From what Mamá Elena had told them about her, Mamá Imelda was a fierce passionate woman who could whip any person into shape with her shoe or her words. She had harmed and helped so many people with her voice. And she was not one to be tampered with. Rosa wondered how she was faring with no voice; if she had lost her ability to speak forever she would be devastated. But at least Mamá Imelda could communicate. She would be fine.

Tía Rosita--Rosa felt the gap in her memory so strongly. It was strange; she felt a small attachment to this woman but when she tried to recall any image or photo of her ancestor, there was nothing. It was almost enough to make her think that there was not really a Tía Rosita at all. But the devastation in Nina's face as she told Rosa confirmed her worst fears. She had been completely wiped from her memory. Rosa briefly wondered what happened to someone when they were forgotten, but that sent her into another bout of existential dread. She couldn't stomach what it would mean to completely vanish from this world, even in memory, forever.

And then there was Miguel. Rosa realized with horror that if Miguel had died that morning, they would have never seen him again. The familia had been so close to losing them all in the first place. If Miguel had died during that time, the devastation would have been a thousand times worse if they had lost his soul too.

Rosa felt guilt eat at her for forgetting Tía Rosita. It wasn't something that she could control, but it still made her feel hollow inside, like a fish someone had gutted. She wondered if she could try to jog her memories or if she could try to help the others. But she didn't know where to start. The attic maybe had some diary or something she could go through, but that would take some time. And with Miguel in the hospital, she didn't want to take a whole lot of time off of work; the business still needed to run, whether there was an emergency or not.

Her plan to recreate her Tía through her diary was thwarted, however, when she remembered that people's stories had to be passed on through other people. She wasn't certain how well it would work if the deceased was already forgotten.

She would try. That was the long and the short of it.

Throughtout Nina's explanation, Rosa had held on to her, keeping one shoulder wrapped around her shoulders. She was careful not to jostle her arm so the IV stayed in place and her wrist would not be moved too much.

"Can you try to fix them?" Rosa asked after a while.

Nina shook her head from side to side sadly. "I cast some very powerful magic. I don't know if I can. And even if I could, I would need to do this from the Tierra de los Muertos, which means bringing Miguel back to--"

"No. Absolutely not. And you'll get the same answer from everybody else. Neither of you are going back to that place til you are old and grey and dead. You will have to fix Miguel some other way."

Nina nodded. "I had a feeling you might say that." She sunk slightly, overwhelmed again. "What am I gonna tell your family?"

"What you told me. But that can wait. Let them worry about Miguel for now. Then we can figure out a solution for my deceased ancestors." Rosa squeezed Nina's shoulder as she heard a slight commotion outside. "It sounds like the nurse is coming around to kick visitors out."

Nina nodded. "I guess so." Rosa began to get up, but Nina grabbed her arm with her good hand. "Will you stay?"

Rosa opened her mouth to protest, but Nina cut her off. "My family didn't try to contact me at all. They didn't care, even after I gave the hospital my abuela's phone number." She looked at the floor. "You're the only one who truly treats me like family. Will you stay?"

Rosa's face softened. "Solo para tí, mi amiga." She nuzzled in and laid back in Nina's hospital bed. They stayed together through the night, telling each other secrets and stories like they had on any other night. It was a good distraction, to be with family, while they waited for news.

News came the next morning by way of a bopping by a chancla to Rosa's forehead.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for sticking with me! Two more chapters and this bad boy is done! I was looking through my notes on my phone and I have been working on this thing since August of 2019 but only started posting a little while ago! I am so proud of it. It has gone through so many changes, but I am super happy with the results.


	20. Las Secuelas

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> How are the Riveras dealing with the aftermath of the evening on either side of the bridge? No matter what, they will face it together

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aftermath

Julio walked up the stairs, careful of the bundle in his arms. It had once all been in a wagon, but in order to climb the stairs easily he had needed to abandon the wagon in favor of one of the cloth sacks that Mamá Imelda kept around for shopping. He checked its contents once more before stepping into his younger daughter's room.

She usually left the door closed, but today she left it open. She seemed pensive as she stared out her bedroom window at the sprawling city. While not as festive and vibrant as it had been a couple of days ago, it was still gleaming. She leaned her head against the window frame amd sighed.

"Are you all right mija?" Julio asked in a timid voice. She whirled around and saw her father, nervously clutching a bag in his hands. As long as she had known him he had been nervous, even while at home.

She smiled sadly. "I'm worried, papá." She moved from the frame of the window and sat on the chair in her room. It was quaintly and intentionally decorated with small figuries from the years from Elena, a small wardrobe, and a shoe stand for her 24 pairs of Rivera shoes. Her jewelry and other oddities rested in a small clay bowl that Imelda had made for her when she was born.

"Miguel will be fine," Julio said, determination entering his voice. "We would have gotten a phone call from the Department if they suspected he would be entering our world. I'm certain he is fine."

Victoria nodded, but her eyes remained downcast. She, like everyone else, was devastated by the loss of her aunt. Victoria and Rosita had been very close. When Imelda and Coco provided Elena with the best company, Julio and Rosita provided Victoria with the best company. They were all matches made in heaven, as Julio was so happy to point out.

They had lost an angel that night. 

"What about the orhers? I didn't get a chance to check on Elena. I miss her so much," Victoria shoved a fist into her eye to wipe away her tears.

Julio made his way over to his daughter and set a hand on her back. "Mija, I miss her too. I missed your mamá for so long, and I miss your hermana even more, now. But she is doing what she needs to as the head of the family in the living world. When she is ready she will join us."

"But what about Miguel and Ernesto? What are we going to tell Elena about Tía Rosita? She--"

Julio held up a hand to gently cut off his daughter. "He is safe in the care of the family. If something was wrong we would have gotten a call. We are safe. Ernesto is behind bars this time, for good." He paused before continuing. "Rosita is in a better place, now. She was a sweet and caring woman; I am confident that wherever she ended up, she is fine."

Victoria nodded, but she was again uncertain. "I'm stll afraid," she murmered softly. If it were any other family member, she would not have admitted that outright to them. Julio knew this and he was grateful his daughter was so open with him. He knew she didn't necessarily believe in an afterlife before she herself had died. She had confided in him about her doubts of the Catholic church, and about death and the conitnuity of life after death. He needed to comfort her now as she contemplated what happened to a soul after they were forgotten. He set down tha bag and gently embraced his daughter.

He held his daughter as she rocked with sobs again. He had already had a good cry about his sister's being forgotten. But he still had faith that wherever she ended up, she was happy. True, he could not feel her anymore. But she was somewhere. She had to be. God didn't put people on this earth and then let a witch vanquish them away. Especially a witch they considered as family.

Julio pulled back and reached into his apron to pull something out, making the apron appear less bulky.

The cola bottle.

Victoria gasped. Every year Elena made sure she got one, and while it was not a representation of her love for her sister in its entirety, Victoria looked forward to drinking the bottle every year as she watched the sun rise over the Tierra de los Muertos.

She gratefully accepted the bottle from her papá, knowing it was the one that Elena had gotten her this year. "How did you--"

"While everyone was looking for Miguel and Coquis, I took the time to go to the Land of the Living in case either of them escaped and ran home. Dante even stayed there. I had to prompt him to leave Miguel's parents in the early morning. I think he knew we both had a purpose for being there."

He continued, "Apparently I was there because I needed to get what offerings the family had salvaged for us." He walked away from her and opened the bag, which was filled to the brim with various flowers, shoes, bottles of tequila (and hard flammable alcohol to her surprise), candies, and even some recovered tamales and mole inside of a small tub. "Socorro had left her wagon in the hacienda so I loaded a spirit copy of it up with these treasures." He pulled out a single marigold flower and sugar skull and handed it to his beloved daughter.

She gratefully accepted them and wrapped her arms around her father again. "Gracias, papá," she murmered into his neck. He held her tight.

They both knew it wasn't about the gifts. But the fact that he had made such a nice gesture for his worried daughter was such a blessing to her. After what felt like several minutes, she kissed his cheek and sat back on her knees. Her eyes were crinkled in a melancholy happiness he recognized every year they had gone back together to check on the living relatives. This time it was tinged with much more grief. But he knew she would be all right. If Victoria could be strong for Rosita, then he would too.

"De nada, mija," Julio whispered. "Will you be all right?" he questioned softly.

She nodded. He smiled one last time before cupping her cheek. Normally she hated physical contact but it was a special--if very emotional--occasion and he was grateful she made the exception for him.

He took the wagon and walked into the room directly next to hers. It was pink with white flowers. He smiled sadly at her door before pushing it open.

"Bueno," she would have answered from the inside.

Julio opened his sister's door and smiled at the empty room. One of her many knitting projects sat on the bed, only half-finished. She was always working on something soft or frilly or pink.

He looked at her wardrobe where several other pink and girly somethings hung inside and sighed happily. He hoped that his hermana was safe and sound, wherever she was.

So much had happened over the past few days and now that the family was able to slow down and processs it, it had taken a toll on them.

He sighed slightly, before pulling the bag into view. "I was able to recover some of our blessings this year, Sita." The empty room did not respond back, but it didn't stop him. He imagined that his sister would have been eager to know about the trashed ofrenda more than anything else. 

He chuckled softly. "The ofrenda room was absolutely wrecked, but when I got there much of it had been recovered." He didn't mention how he hadn't seen Héctor or Imelda's photo anywhere. He would chat with them about that shortly. "Elena left you a shawl and some flowers. There was also a plate of mole this year, but I wasn't able to recover much of it. He held up the slightly messy plate. There was rice, chicken, some of her favorite mole sauce.

He paused, letting the empty room speak for itself. She might have said something about the shawl, or about how she felt worried about Miguel. He was sure of it.

Julio was starting to see a pattern, and he knew that it would continue into the next few rooms he enetered. "Something tells me Miguel will be okay. And you will too." He gently laid the shawl on her bed.

"Te quiero," he whispered into the empty room. He left his sister's room, knocking on the door to the next room over.

Technically it was his and Coco's to share, but this was a special time for the family. They closed their shop several days after Día de los Muertos to recuperate and to celebrate their time together. Coco often found herself missing her younger daughter after this time and he wanted to make sure she was all right to be by his side.

Not that she would turn him down. Ever.

She smiled tiredly when he entered. She too, was staring out the window quietly. The room had been Julio's until about ten years ago. Now it reflected both his quiet yet sensible tastes and her colorful loud tastes in decor. The sensible dressor had several statues of alebrijes on it, each as vibrant as the last. There were photos on the walls of the family before, but now they had cute mismatching frames around them. Photos of skeletons and living family members smiled at the camera. Imelda and Héctor held hands in one of the more recent photos, smiling at each other lovingly.

Of all the changes the family had gone through over the years, he was grateful that Héctor amd Coco had found their way to each other. He loved seeing his wife again, and he loved the sparkle in her eyes when she talked about her papá.

He held up some of the letters that the children had written for her. The one on top was from little Coquis.

"I have offerings for you, mi amor," he said gently, so as not to stir her.

She turned him, her eyes filled with tears. "You were able to save some?" she asked eyeing the letters in his hands. She was appreciative, of course, but he knew she could not resist the urge to read what the family had written to her. She was the most recently departed and therefore the nost well-remembered. They had a lot to tell her.

He nodded. "I went back to the Tierra de los Vivos. I wanted to make sure that if either of the children went to the hacienda I could send them home." He took his hat off, and held it in his hands. "I am still worried for Miguel. And Rosita too, but...I can't explain it. I don't feel her anymore but I know she is somehow all right. Wherever she is, she is all right. And Elena--" he looked into his wife's eyes.

"How is our daughter?" she asked softly, eyes still bristling.

"She's wonderful, diosa. She is happy and healthy. We might even have to wait ten more years for her!" That was a running joke with Elena; they had been saying she had another ten years under her belt for at least fifteen years. He smiled at her and then at the floor. "She left you some gifts as well. She made you a pair of shoes. Some flats, sensible for dancing."

Coco smiled at this. Elena had apparently been the hardest to convince about the music ban, but she did eventually give in just before Coco passed away. Now she was making mariachi shoes and dancing shoes!

While it was nice to see their daughter flourishing, it was sad to not be able to hold her. Coco scooched over on the bed and patted the space beside her. Even in death she slept on the right side of the bed and he slept on the left side. They had been separated by death for nearly two decades and they still kept this pattern.

He smiled at this and sat on the edge of the bed. "I'm still delivering gifts to the familia, mi amor. But after I am done I will come back to hold you." He set the pair of shoes in her lap. Elena's hands had become less steady over the past decade, but they were able to take the time to make the stitching on the shoes just right. It was sturdy to hold together, but not so tight that she wouldn't be able to move. And after all these years they were still the correct size. 

"Remarkable stitching, as always," she muttered. "Elena always stitched best in the family. Better than me and some of her shoes rivalled Mamá's." She looked up at Julio. "Don't tell her I said that." Coco admired the beautiful stitching. She had missed making shoes in the shop once her hands began shaking in her seventies. And when her eyesight and memory failed her, she couldn't even supervise anymore. Elena, now seventy-five, had to stay out of the shop now. There must have been a great deal of pain and love involved in these shoes.

She turned them over and saw the soles were mirrored Rivera stamp. But also a small symbol. A beautifully engraved "C" with a small guitar inside.

Coco started gushing. "Our mijita..."she showed her husband the sole of the shoe and he gasped.

"That must have taken hours," he murmered fondly. He looked at the door, where the wagon sat, still with many different flowers and knick knacks and bottles of alcohol.

"I think the booze is for the tíos, amor." She nodded her chin to the wagon. "I have a feeling they won't be drinking it, though. Some alcohols have flammable properties." She chuckled, but it slowly morphed into a teary laugh.

"Mamá Imelda will murder them if they burn down the shop," he hedged.

She nodded, before giving her husband one last hug. He kissed her forehead and smiled at her. "Te amo, Socorro," before heading downstairs for the tíos.

As expected, they were emotionally charged as well. Julio cleared his throat before entering. He had seen his wife and daughter cry, and he wanted to be strong for the uncles. Usually seeing any of his girls cry was enough to provoke tears of his own. But he still had half the family to visit.

Óscar answered the door, but Felipe was just behind him.

"Sobrinito," started Óscar, with his favorite nickname for their nephew. Both Coco and Imelda hated it, but Julio had grown to accept it over time.

"¿Qué pasa?" Felipe asked, moving closer.

Julio held up two bottles of tequila, reposado and añejo, their favorites. "These were your offerings this year, tíos. And this," she said, handing them the whisky bottle.

"Oooh!" Òscar quipped. This is highly--"

"Flammable!" Julio finished. "So be careful, please, tíos."

Even with the warning, the twins could not conceive of a world in which they had very flammable alcohol and their offerings, and the family was safe (except for Miguel, maybe?). They had won, and saved their sobrinos' lives. They didn't mention Rosita, but they didn't need to. Julio knew they were heartbroken, but they were dealing with it in their own way. 

They tittered back and forth, talking at the hyperspeed that Julio had grown accustomed to (though not fluent in!). He decided that they were all right to comfort each other after the night's antics.

And now came the matriarch and patriarch of the family. He was always nervous to approach them, even ten years into his relationship with Héctor. He stood ouside their door, a vivid purple one with little yellow petals painted aroud the borders. When Héctor had moved in he added beautiful rainbow swirls to the frame to add to its beauty but never taking attention away from the pattern Imelda had done around the frame. From a distance Julio could admire that their relationship with each other had been like that. Imelda setting the groundwork and Héctor adding to it while never taking away from her ideals, only adding in and changing them with her.

Julio admired the door for a little bit before raising his hand to knock. And as he did, the door swung inward. Héctor stood there, his vest shimmering lightly from the fabric that Rosita had fixed for him several years ago. He was shocked to see Julio there with a large bag.

"Lo siento, Julio. I am not interested in Girl Scout Cookies," he said, with a surprisingly good American accent.

Julio had to laugh at that. He had spent a great deal of time getting to know Héctor over the past few years. He was a fun man, and honestly it was easy to get along with him, especially if Imelda was around. When they had had their 'I'm dating your daughter' conversation, Héctor had been very interested in Julio's life. He did not threaten Julio (not that there was much he could have done to change the outcome of that situation), but rather trusted in Imelda's instincts to protect their daughter and focused on getting to know the man that Coco had so smartly and lovingly selected to be her husband.

"Are you all right?" Julio asked finally.

Héctor clutched his right elbow with his left hand. He had seen any number of the family do that in the years he was alive, and now that he was dead he had seen Rosa and Miguel do it on several occasions when they were perplexed or scared. "I'm worried about Miguel, and Rosita... She protected Miguel. And I am grateful for that, but..." he could feel tears brimming his eyes.

"She is fine, Papá Héctor," Julio said, resting a hand on Héctor's arm. Julio loved showing his love for others through touch. He was just like his hermana that way. He felt that when he comforted people in this way, he was almost transfering a piece of his spirit to them to help them feel better.

Héctor appreciated the gesture, but he still looked guilty. "I was so focussed on getting the niños home, I wasn't concerned about Rosita. I just thought, 'Hey she's a skeleton, she'll be okay'." He looked at Julio. "You are all skeletons. Not invincible. I took you all for granted and I put you all in harm's way. Even with the bruja and Ernesto in jail, I don't know what to think. She attacked Miguel through a dream last night. Who's to say she couldn't do it again or do it to one of us?" He sighed heavily, resting his elbows on his knees and letting his head droop. "I risked them. I should have gone with Rosita and Imelda."

Julio rested a hand on Héctor's shoulder. "Papá Teto, there is nothing you could have done to change this. Even if you had gone, perhaps you and Rosita would have been forgotten. That wouldn't have helped anyone, especially Miguel. In the end he needed you to send him home." Julio looked at the ground before looking back up at Héctor. "You were exactly where you needed to be."

The taller man lifted his head and looked at Julio with a devastated and guilty expression. Even though his body was twenty-one when he died, he had had a whole life, and a whole death, while living in the Tierra de los Muertos. He had been through a lot, whether it was his life before Miguel or after.

Héctor finally relented. "I know you're right, but I can't stop feeling guilty." He looked over his shoulder, where Imelda was lying in her nightgown with her back to them. She was probably sleeping after such a long night.

Julio could understand that. He knew what it was like to feel like he had not been there for someone. It had killed him not knowing why Victoria was so perplexed in her early adult years. But learning about her anxiety about death had led him to a closer relationship with his daughter. And this shared grief over the loss of his sister was something that could either wreck the family or make it stronger.

He decided right then that he would not let the Rivera family falter. They had made mistakes in the past about Héctor, but he would not allow his father in law blame himself.

Julio turned around and opened the bag. "You were right to send me to the Tierra de los Vivos. The nietos wrote you letters, this year, Papá Héctor," he smiled. "Elena even wrote one for you. She also did her best to make you a pair of shoes, but I am not sure they will fit you." He looked doubtfully at the shoes that were maybe a size too small for him.

Héctor looked down st the shoes he was wearing and then at the pair Elena had made. "They will probably not fit, but we can see about adjusting them or preserving them."

Julio turned them over and showed the taller skeleton what he knew would be there; an engraved 'HR' with a skull and guitar next to it. It had been tastefully and intricstely done just like Coco's had been.

When Julio looked up at Héctor, he had tears in his eyes. "I always thought she would hate me," he murmured softly.

"Miguel would have made sure that didn't happen," Julio stated softly but with a force that he hardly brought into his voice. "She loves you just as much as she would have if you havn't been taken from us. And when she gets here she can see how much we love you."

Héctor threw his arms around the smaller man, clutching the shoes and the letters in either hand. Julio patted his back and looked over his shoulder at Imelda.

Imelda watched them now with purple and brown eyes sparkling with tears. She was no longer asleep, watching her husband and son in law together. So the entire house had been awake. Which was just as well. Julio had wanted to check on the fam8lia, just like he did every year after the holiday.

Héctor finally stopped sniffling and turned around to face his wife. "Diosa, Julio has our offerings. I had totally forgotten about them. I thought that we weren't going to be able to pick them up this year."

Julio's demeanor noticeably changed when Imelda's emotionless eyes found him.

Héctor caught where he was looking and stood to his full height. "Imelda, mi amor?"

She slowly turned her gaze up to Héctor. She still looked so tired. It was worrying. She was normally a pillar of such strength... Julio could not remember a time when she was not terrifying to him.

She slowly sat up, as if moving hurt her every limb. And maybe it did. She held her head, as if pain radiated from it, but they knew that as she no longer had living tissue inside her skull, that wasn't possible. Her eyes finally found Julio, and he did not like the haunted look that came with them. She looked off to the side, then back up with a smile. She picked up the notepad from the bedside table and wrote quickly on it in her delicate cursive script. "I thought I had let you all down, but here you are with the blessings from our family." She smiled proudly at Julio, who wiggled under her gaze.

If he had skin, he would have blushed. Héctor relaxed and set a hand on Imelda's shoulder. She looked a little better with the good news of the blessings from the family. They had been through one doozy of a night. Everyone was tense or worried or angry or scared. But they would still take care of each other, like they always did.

Imelda wrote again, addressing Julio as if he was still only the boy Coco had a crush on in her teens. "Thank you, mijo. You are very thoughtful." She slowly gathered her thoughts to write again. "Did you check on everyone already?" Normally they checked in with everyone after the holiday together. He had been the one to check everyone alone this year as well as the frist year that Héctor had been invited into the family again. Imelda had been tending to Héctor until he recovered enough to begin helping around the home.

It had been a process, but Julio had been there for her. He still thought the addition of Héctor to the household was one of the best changes he had ever seen in the Rivera family, including reuniting with Coco.

Julio spoke now, addressing the matriarch timidly. No matter how much time he had spent with her, he still felt a little jumpy in her presense. He did his best to relax under her gaze. "I did, Mamá Imelda. This year was...it was difficult. When you couldn't cross all those years ago, I had a difficult time empathising with that but now I know and..." he shuddered. "Once I knew the photos were up again, I made my way back. I kept an eye on the children and on Elenita, and everyone." He smiled fondly, thinking about the drama the tías had stirred and the gossip the family had shared with whomever they thought was there. It seemed that after around ten, they had all established that the children were safe and would return home shortly.

"Miguel is in a lot of trouble, though," he said. "He poured paint over three headstones just to come back to us. I saw him sneak out with Rosa and Abel around two in the morning. I thought that he looked like he had been in a fire or something. I guess that I wasn't that far off." He paused for a moment, considering. "I'm not surprised he came back, though. He got his dedication and love from you two."

Imelda and Héctor exchanged tired smiles. They knew their boy would do anything for the family, on either side of the bridge.

Julio wrung his hat in his hands nervously. "I hope he is okay."

Imelda nodded and wrote on her notepad again. Héctor and Julio leaned forward to read it. "He would do anything to make sure his hermanita was okay." She looked down for a moment, her brow bone furrowed. "I did have a chat with him, though. I told him that we could handle it on our own. But I was wrong. If he hadn't come along, she might have been killed. Nina too."

Héctor nodded. "She needed someone to snap her out of it. And boy did he," he chuckled.

Julio thought about the family meeting they had had. Imelda and Héctor had explained through their voices and their notes all that had transpired with them that evening. Now they were seeing the evening's effects on everyone's mental states. Julio wondered what it had been like to be in the explosion that had harmed Miguel, or the burst of energy that had disturbed the beach. He himself had felt the air tingle on the bridge as he raced across it with Dante. If he was that far away and felt its effects, he wondered what it had been like to be in the blast.

Julio reached within himself. He could feel the ties of the living family, attached to his heartstrings. He could even feel those of anyone who had been alive when he was. Imelda and Coco's latched to him, despite their being dead. The twins were there, too. The glaring absense of Rosita and Miguel was a strong force, though. It had at first weighed on his shoulders like a bag of flour.

But it didn't feel permanent. He couldn't explain it. But the moment that he felt the explosion from the beach, he felt a weight release from his soul. Like something had been set free. He knew everything would be all right. It was almost as if Rosita had reached out to him

Imelda leaned forward on the bed, resting a hand on Julio's shoulder. Her face showed an urgency behind its tiredness as she wrote again. Julio waited patiently as she scribbled on the notepad. "I want to apologize to you. To you both," she added, looking up at her husband. They both arched their eyebrows in surprise before looking back st her. "I failed you, and nearly got our nieta killed because I didn't report DLC." Referring to De la Cruz. "I should have told la familia, but I didn't think he would do anything. I underestimated him. He hurt Miguel AGAIN. And--"

Imelda looked up through blurry eyes as Héctor held either of her arms in his hands and looked her straight in the eye.

"Stop it, Imelda. We are in this together. If anything, we both failed the family. We--"

Julio made a chain by cutting off his father in law. "Neither of you are to blame. That man was bad before. He will still be bad tomorrow. Neither of you could have predicted that he would have gone ot such lengths to harm this family. I hold neither of you responsible. In fact, neither do they," he said, jerking his thumb behind him at the cracked door.

Imelda and Héctor looked to the door, where it had been incredibly way too silent for a while.

Julio chuckled. "Está bien, familia, you can come out," he said.

One by one the remaining Riveras emerged from behind the door. Every single person he had comforted emerged with a timid smile on their face. Each muttered a greeting or a soft apology before looking at the teary-eyed matriarch and patirach.

Imelda closed her eyes and shook her head knowingly. Nosy as ever, their familia. But deeply caring.

Julio, caught sight of Victoria, who was soaked in something.

"I opened the cola but it exploded," she explained, reading her papá's mind. She giggled a little in embarrassment, which she never would have done before. "I guess I was just excited, thought I don't remember shaking it."

That had every Rivera tittering. Héctor let out a snort and then they were really rolling.

"Is it time for a family hug?" piped up Coco. They all turned to her with residual smiles. Every Rivera rushed her and they held each other for a good while...though maybe a little too close to the stairs, because the next thing they knew, one of Héctor's gangly limbs caught the handle of the offering bag and sent them all tilting. Level by level they fell down the stairs. Scattered Rivera bones littered the hallway and every step, tumbling down down down until Julio's head landed on the welcome mat facing the stairs.

He looked up at the disaster his family had become. But they were his disaster. And he was happy to be able to fall apart and be brought back together by them. They would work together through everything.

\----------------------------------

Rosa awoke to the loud slap of a chancla on her forehead. Before she could even ask what had happened, a little hand was raising to deliver another blow to her face.

"Socorro! Stop!" Rosa yelled, scrambling to an upright position.

Nina was up now, too, wiping at her eyes.

Socorro sighed, her whole form slumping forward on the hospital bed. "Whoo. I thought you were dead."

Nina stared at her bemusedly. She had not interacted with Coquis very much since she had returned, but she seemed okay to now. Rosa wondered how much Socorro knew about what had happened to Nina that evening.

Rosa rubbed her nose, bringing her attention back to the current situation. She tiredly retrieved her glasses off the bedside table and stuck them on her face. "No. I am not dead," she glowered. "Why did you think I was?"

Socorro shrugged. "Cuz you weren't moving. At all. At least Nina twitches in her sleep." She splayed her hand at Nina, revealing her bandaged wrist. Rosa didn't remember it from yesterday, but she was groggy all day, dead on her feet. No wonder she had knocked out so hard.

"Mamá says that I needed to wake you up cuz it's time to go shower." She crinkled her nose at her older cousin. "You stink."

Rosa rolled her eyes. "And I'm assuming Tía Luisa is going to go home and shower, too, right?" Socorro herself was wearing a different dress from yesterday, her hair brushed and braided into two neat plaits. She was clean and she looked a thousand times better than the shivering, traumatized child they had recovered yesterday. Her nose was still bandaged and her eyes were still puffy, but she looked really good.

Rosa found herself wishing she was clean too. Maybe a shower wasn't such a bad idea.

Socorro shrugged, backing onto her heels at the foot of the bed. "I think so. She says she is really tired."

"What about Miguel?" asked Nina. "Who's going to stay with him?"

"Oh. Iguel woke up a couple hours ago."

Nina and Rosa looked at each other, then back at Coquis. "What?" asked Rosa with wide eyes. She began to scramble to get out of bed. Nina looked ready to yank out her IV and march over to his room.

"Yeah. Only, when I ran to hug him I landed on his belly and he kinda cried a little but, I kinda hurt him and then the grownups pulled me out of the room, so now I'm here." She looked down at her leather sandal, the braiding reminding Rosa of something they might put on the ofrenda to show off for their ancestors.

Nina winced. "Is he, like, okay?" she asked tightly.

Rosa imagined Socorro running up to a freshly stitched Miguel and the pain that had ensued when she scrambled onto his lap. It didn't sound delightful in the slightest. At least there were probably a million doctors here to help him if something went wrong.

"Can we go see him?" asked Rosa with wide eyes. She looked around the room for her phone and found it on the floor. She tried not to think of all the potential human fluids that had been on the floor of the hospital room.

"Does he want to see us?" Nina asked, more softly.

Socorro shrugged, ever helpful. "Mamá says shower first." With that, she got down from the bed and skipped away, probably to go jump on some other freshly-stitched patient.

Rosa rolled her eyes, turning her attention to her cell phone. It was past noon on the fourth. It felt like she had lost an entire day, having done nothing on the third. But getting Nina, Miguel, and Socorro back was worth losing some sleep over. She looked over her text messages, including a group chat her family had invented for the evening. Half of the people over fourty were having troubles navigating it, accidentally sending texts multiple times or sending accidental selfies.

Rosa rolled her eyes and pocketed her phone, turning to Nina. "They said you had your phone on you last night, but it was soaked when I got it." She crossed the room to a small cubbyhole, where the doctors had told her they put her things. Nina had shrugged into a hospital gown because it was clean, but her dirty clothes were in a plastic bag along with her phone, keys, and a ring or two.

Nina's face scrunched up. "That was probably when I exploded and flooded the place."

Rosa frowned. "Exploded?"

Nina's face crumpled microscopically. "Yeah," she waved to dismiss it, too tired to explain. She looked haggard indeed. Wild curls, unkempt teeth, wrinkled hospital gown and dark circles under her eyes. She looked at Rosa and that was when she saw it.

"Nina--your eyes are--they're different." Rosa took small steps to her friend, holding the bag of personal affects. "They're like--green."

It was true. When Nina tilted her head or looked a certain way, the green was visible. Almost like a cat's eyes in the dark. Only, it was green and way more freaky.

Nina furrowed her brows. "No, they're brown," but her voice was doubtful. "Let me check with my phone."

Nina waved it at her. "Soaked. Dead. Probably ruined forever, unless you have some arroz handy." She tossed her bruja friend her own phone with a light warning. "Don't fry this one, too."

Nina glared half-heartedly at Rosa and slumped back against her pillows as she activated the phone's camera to check her eyes. It was ungodly the amount of pillows she had piled behind her head. Such a needy princess. Rosa had had to sleep with her neck at practically a right angle and awoken with gnarly knots in her neck and shoulders.

Rosa chuckled at her own thoughts, grateful she could have them. The night's events ran through her head, including what Nina had told her yesterday. They had come out with some casualties, sure, but it could have been way worse. She felt the guilt of not being able to remember her great aunt nag at her again, but there was nothing they could do about it now. Nina would have to figure that out herself.

But she would not be alone.

"You're right, my eyes are freaky," Nina murmured, tilting her head a few different ways. "They used to be brown, now they're like--weird." She frowned at the phone, her thoughts going elsewhere. She looked really bothered by her new eye color as she handed the phone to her best friend.

Rosa accepted it back. "Maybe it's temporary. Maybe the same thing happened to Miguel last time but we didn't notice cuz his eyes are darker than yours."

Nina nodded distractedly, looking around the room with a sigh. "Maybe. I need to talk to him eventually but I don't feel ready yet."

Rosa didn't know what to do for her friend. "I'm going to go home and shower. Do you want me to bring you anything?" she offered lightly.

Nina sunk lower. "A noose?" she asked hopelessly. "I have to face Miguel at some point today." She paused briefly. "If Socorro didn't completely kill him."

Rosa held back a laugh unsuccessfully. "Not funny," she lectured, half smiling. She kneeled down next to her friend, pushing some of her hair out of her face. "Miguel understands. He will understand. I've got your back, okay? We will explain this together, as a family. And then we'll go from there."

Nina nodded. "Okay." She leaned forward to hug Rosa, careful of her IV and her braced arm. "Together. But first, you should shower. Socorro was right; you look like death warmed over."

Rosa took one of the pillows from behind Nina's head and bopped her over the head with it. "Speak for yourself." She smiled smugly at her friend before running out of the room so Nina couldn't throw anything at her.

Rosa knew she needed to go home and shower before she saw her cousin. She didn't want to show up to his room looking like trash. If anything, it would only make him feel guilty. She didn't want that.

She found her familia ifn the lobby and went home with her tía and tío to go wash up. They would be back momentarily, and they would be having a discussion as a family.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If it seems like I favor particular character POV...it's because I do. Rosa is pretty mechanical yet observant. She is great to tell stories from the PoV
> 
> Also, for Miguel: ouch. After my mom got home from her surgery, my dog was so excited and jumped into her lap...right onto her stitches. I can not wven imagine the pain involved in that.


	21. Como una campana

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Like a bell
> 
> Miguel comes home after 8 days in the hospital.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whoo
> 
> WARNING: potty mouths and some violence in this chapter.
> 
> I am so sorry that took so long. I had to go to the hospital because of appendicitis. Twas terrible, and I don't recommend it!
> 
> Nonetheless, here this is, and I hope you enjoy :)

Papá had his arm looped under Miguel's waist, careful not to disturb any of his remaining stitches. They would have to be removed in about six days, which no one was looking forward to. After over a week in the hospital, Miguel was finally allowed to go home. Mamá and Rosa followed behind the two men with Miguel's things, including one of his guitars (which he insisted on having in the hospital despite not being able to play it easily. When asked about it he had complained that he had been "bored out of his mind.") The women set the guitar and the bags in the musican's room and moved aside for Enrique and Miguel to get to the bed. Rosa left with an awkward wave, and Mamá hung in the doorway for a bit. Her eyes met Enrique's and she nodded once, closing the door as she too left them.

"Easy does it," Papá murmured to a grunting Miguel, who was breaking out in a sweat from the effort of moving around. He was in pain, but there was not much they could do about that past keeping up with his scheduled painkillers. At the foot of Miguel's bed, Papá hesitated for just a moment before setting his hand down firmly on the nightstand. He leaned forward and let Miguel use his arm as an anchor to ease himself onto his own bed.

Once seated, Miguel rested for a moment, panting. It had been a long painful walk from the truck, now parked in the alley beside the shop. But it was a hell ogf a lot better than the hospital.

Papá patted his son's shoulder gruffly. "All right, mijo." It wasn't a question.

Miguel smiled. "Finally home," he murmured tiredly. 

Papá understood. Miguel slowly whipped his feet over the bed and laid down. He didn't even have to ask his father to help with his shoes; Papá was already untying his boots to put them at the foot of his bed. "Gravias," he murmured tiredly.

Once he was laying down, Miguel relaxed his body, trying to ease his muscles into a position that would be suitable to rest without paining him too much. Propped up on his pillows, Miguel closed his eyes.

Papá hovered for a moment, before gently reaching over to brush the hair out of Miguel's face.

Miguel opened his eyes tiredly and looked at his father. "Papá...?"

Enrique let out a short breath, putting his hands on his hips and looking to the ceiling. He stared up for several moments before looking back down at Miguel. He looked like he was about to start crying.

There had been a lot of crying at the hospital. Mamá of course had been a nervous wreck, and there had been tearful apologies from Socorro. Nina had been a mess of guilt--he had just barely scraatched the surface of how she had been feeling, and they still had quite a lot to talk about. Abuelita had visited him and "would have beaten him with a chancla" if he wasn't already injured. He had thought they were done crying over him; no one knew about his soul yet, and they planned to keep it that way until Nina could fix him. They had told everyone what had happened --or rather, told mamá and papá, who had in turn told the family what had occurred that Día de los Muertos. And Miguel had elected to wait to tell the family about the "lasting curses" until he was home--meaning Tía Rosita, Mamá Imelda, and his own soul.

Well...he was home.

Miguel felt his heart clench, unsure what to do. "Papá, I'm--it's okay, I'm--uh, it's okay."

"You scared the hell out of me, Miguel." It was a hard fact, a cold accusation in the room. It hung above them for several seconds as it absorbed into the sheets and the rug Miguel's parents had gotten him. It was the first time that anybody had been tough on Miguel over the past week. Well, tough without immediately following it with showers of kisses and "pobrecito, mi lindo cielito." Papá had been quiet at the hospital; he had not had any one-on-one alone time with Miguel. But Miguel knew that his papá was someone who needed to stew on their feelings and learn facts before reacting. Miguel was not like his papá; he often made rash decisions and inpulsively risked himself and others regularly.

He should have died.

Papá's grave facial expression forced Miguel to acknowledge his father. He was ready to talk about his feelings, and he was not happy.

Miguel's voice was tiny as he responded. "I know."

"Do you?" snapped papá. "Because it would seem to me that you don't." He frowned deeply.

In his heart, Miguel was almost glad for the change. People had been fussing over him for eight days, treating him like a baby. There had been a few angry faces, but no one looked like Papá did now. He was about to lecture Miguel, and Miguel was going to take it. There was no escaping. He felt like he was a kid again who was in deep trouble, like the time he had accidentally sent some fireworks into the shop one holiday. But this was worse. Miguel let out a breath before answering his father.

"Look, I know that...chasing after Socorro was probably not--"

"It was definitely not," snapped Papá. He crossed his arms over his chest angrily, waiting for Miguel to continue.

Miguel pouted, annoyed about the interruption but internally knowing he deserved it. "I definitely should not have chased after her. And I'm really sorry I scared all of you." His frown deepened into a scowl. "But I don't regret it."

Papá opened his mouth to retort, but Miguel cut him off. "Papá, I'm sorry, okay? I scared everyone. I get it. But Coquis almost died."

Papá sighed heavily, running his hand through his hair. He was starting to get a peppering of grey at his temples. When had that happened? Had Miguel been away so long he hadn't noticed his father's hair had started to grey?

Papá grabbed the chair from Miguel's desk. Papá's reach was so long that if he spread his arms he could almost touch both walls. He had definitely inherited the Rivera lankiness, though if it was from Mamá Imedla's side or from Papá Héctor's he had no idea. Papá set the chair beside Miguel's bed and sat down on it so he and his son could be face-to-face. So many of Miguel's interactions over the past week had been like this. He would lay down while Nina or Mamá or Abuelita or whomever sat in a chair and talked to him. But now Miguel was lucid, and he could interact better than the muted, drugged up apologies he had half-heartedly offered his family members.

Once they had settled in, the two men faced each other. The burn on Miguel's face had scarred over, and left a small smear on his otherwise clear face. Papá had some deep frown lines etched into his cheeks and forehead. They both felt a thousand years older than they were.

Papá rested his elbows on his knees and leaned forward, lacing his fingers together almost as if he was praying. He looked off to the side. "Nina and Rosa have been hiding something from me. From us. Socorro won't talk about it either." He looked up at his son, whose face was scrunched with worry. "Mijo, we know you're not telling us everything. Frankly, Rosa is a terrible liar and whenever we ask anything specific about that night, Socorro abruptly changes the subject."

They were both quiet, Enrique looking up at his son expectantly. Miguel's brain went into panic-mode; he felt like whatever controlled his thoughts and emotions was going into a frenzy as he debated about what to do.

Papá's voice was low and pleading. "There's something you're keeping from us. You made me and Mamá a promise that you would not keep anymore secrets." He brought his voice down to a near-whisper that terrified Miguel with its intensity. "What happened, mijo?"

The frenzied decision-making entity in Miguel's head came to an abrupt halt. It was time. His heart pounded in his ears, but his thoughts got clearer and clearer. He knew what he had to do: he had to tell the truth about what had happened.

He had kept this a secret mostly to protect Nina; they had not handled her being overshadowed well. He didn't imagine they would handle his curse to oblivion very well either.

But he owed his family an explanation. After a week of radio silence, they deserved an answer. He could practically feel his father's frustration from across the room. He breathed deeply to settle his nerves. He could not believe how terrified he felt now, of all times. He was more frightened than he had been in the clutches of De la Cruz, with his literal existence hanging in the balance of whether he survived the night or not.

Even now, he was in danger. If he died at any point before Nina could fix him (if she even could), he was in danger of being totally forgotten forever. Would he end up where Tía Rosita went? Was she even around? Would he go to the same place? Was there another afterlife after the Tierra de los Muertos? Would they even recognize each other there? Or would they just be souls? Did he even have a soul now? He had felt quite hollow lately, like he wasn't quite himself. But that maybe could have been the medicine he was on.

"Miguel," prompted papá, not quite gently but not quite impatiently.

Miguel breathed again to center himself. He realized his thoughts were pushing him to a bad place. He would process those feelings later. Right now he had to tell his father what had him so spooked.

"Okay," Miguel relented. It was time. They deserved to know the truth. He told his father the generic opening to the story. Mamá had showed him the ofrenda room which was absolutely smashed to ribbons. Papá briefly interrupted to tell Miguel that Rosa had gathered all the ivory, gold, and mother of pearl and was planning to make another Héctor guitar, although maybe not as elaborate. This made Miguel's heart ache; losing the guitar had been a major loss for him, but it was early in the night and seemed to pale in comparison to losing Rosita.

Miguel explained about Nina's possession and Lucia, how they had kidnapped Socorro and broken her nose. Papá had apparently already found out about Nina and Socorro; he had spent the better part of last night up late talking with Nina about what had happened to them. Apparently Nina and Socorro were friends again, despite the horrors that had happened a week ago. Miguel's heart almost melted when he found out they had made up.

Then the young musician got to the harder parts of the story, about the explosion and what had been done to him, Tía Rosita, and Mamá Imelda. He looked down at his hands crossed in his lap, too afraid to see what his father's face was doing.

"So when you die," Enrique murmured bemusedly, "you won't get to be with the family?"

Miguel finally looked at his father and nodded solemnly. "For now. Nina is going to do her best to fix it."

"I'll bet she is," the older man growled sarcastically.

Miguel reached for his father's arm, his hospital bracelet brushing the older man's sleeve. "Papá, it's not her fault. Please."

He had never seen his papá this angry. Even when he had run off into the night nine years ago, he had been more relieved that Miguel was okay than he was angry about him running off. The anger still resided in his father and it scared Miguel.

"Papá...?"

Enrique took Miguel's hand. "Right before you were born, Luisa got really sick. I was so afraid that something would happen to either of you. I was basically a nervous wreck the entire time."

Miguel stilled. He knew this story. About how his mamá had gotten a terrible fever only a few days before she was supposed to have him. How they had both almost died. It was part of the reason they had waited so long to have Socorro.

"I was afraid I would never get to meet you," Papá gently ran his thumb over the back of Miguel's hand. Enrique was rarely ever this tender with Miguel. He was affectionate with the women in the family, sure, but never with his son or his own papá. He was raised not to be as tender with the males of the family*. Enrique's demeanor became darker, as he recalled a harder time. He already looked a thousand years older, but now he looked even more ancient. "I couldn't imagine...losing both of you. But then her fever got better," and he looked up with a twinkle in his eye that wasn't entirely due to the tears. "And then Luisa had you, and I felt so happy I could bust."

Miguel watched his father in silence. Papá leaned forward on his chair as if pressed down by a weight. Miguel could see a flicker of guilt in his father's face as Enrique said, "I never imagined I would be that scared for you again." He looked down hard at the floor, and then back up at his son. "I'm sorry I wasn't there for you."

Miguel understood. He got it loud and clear. Picked up what his papá was putting down, as Abel would say. Miguel would not be going back to the Tierra de los Muertos, no matter what happened. If another disaster fell on the family--but what were the odds of that happening?--he would stay put and ride it out with the rest of them. He would not scare them like that again.

Miguel's eyes filled with tears. "Papá," he almost whined, reminding himself of being a kid again. His voice worbled as he murmured, "Papá, this isn't your fault. It was just a--" he waved his hand as if trying to grasp the solution from the air-- "a big mistake. It's not your fault."

It was hard trying to talk Nina and Socorro out of blaming themselves for the terrible evening they had all endured. Now that he knew his papá blamed himself for what happened, he didn't know what to do.

"I'm so sorry, papá," he whispered, succumbing to a sob.

Enrique was crying now too. Papá stood and gently hugged his son. He held the back of Miguel's head, like he always did when they hugged, no matter how tall Miguel got. Miguel wrapped his arms around his father, holding on like he was afraid to let go. The motion tugged at his injuries, but he didn't care.

After a long time, Papá pulled back and kissed his son's forehead, surprising Miguel. "Get some rest, mijo," Papá said affectionately, bopping Miguel's nose with the tip of his finger. "We'll figure out the rest later, okay?"

Miguel leaned back, feeling a great weight lift off of his shoulders. He found that he was entirely exhausted, but for the first time, it wasn't just painkillers making him drowsy. He finally felt like he could rest. 

\----------------------------

It was dark and damp here, and completely miserable, as it should be. The grey cement walls were uninviting. The cold floors made her shiver despite the fact that she was wearing the best boots Santa Cecilia had to offer. No one like her had ever set foot in these halls, and she knew it.

She didn't belong here. She knew that from the moment that she set foot back in that place that she was definitely not supposed to be there. But she walked like she belonged and sauntered confidently past the prisoners in their jail cells, ignoring their bawking faces.

Nina walked directly to the cell she had seen in her dream, following the path that had been laid before her by someone--she couldn't even begin to fathom who had sent her a dream from the Tierra de los Muertos, or the means to get there outside of All Saint's Day--and slammed her hand on the bars of the cell she approached. The metal rang loudly like a giant bell.

Half the cell was obscured by darkness; but within the shadows she could see the shimmering whiteness of bones beneath a tan prison uniform. The bones did not startle when her hand rattled the bars; rather the figure on the bed slowly swivelled a white skull upward to look at her. Nina didn't know what had happened after she was sent home, but she didn't care, because this skeleton deserved to be in jail.

"Hello, Nina," cooed the silky smoothe voice of Ernesto de la Cruz. "Here for an autograph?"

Nina kept her scowl in place. "I think you know that's not why I'm here," she seethed through her teeth. It was wild how angry she was getting, how physically hot her skin felt just being near this man.

Ernesto quirked an eyebrow. "No? I was sure your family was all de la Cruz maniacs." He looked down at her wrist, still wrapped in its brace. His face contorted in sympathy. "I see you didn't completely get away unscathed. Does it hurt you, mija?"

"Don't fucking call me that," she spat.

Ernesto made a face like he had stepped in something. "Don't use that language in front of your elders, young lady, you--"

He was cut off when Nina raised her hand through the bars and flicked her wrist toward herself. Despite the fact that Ernesto was nearly two meters away, the mriacho was lifted up off the cot he sat on, thrown across the room, and slammed into the bars of his cell. His skeleton rattled as it clanged against the metal surrounding him. Nina gripped his vertibrae in a vice-like hold, ignoring the splint on her wrist. His eyes were wide as she latched onto him with a strength he apparently did not know she had.

"Listen here, you useless, pathetic fucking trash monkey," she snapped with a venom in her voice that would put a serpent to shame. "I didn't come here for niceties."

Ernesto tried to pry Nina's hands off of throat, but her grip was too tight around his neck bones. He was lucky he didn't need to breathe or she would have absolutely obliterated his wind pipe. "Niña, we can work this out--"

"Shut the hell up!" she barked. Her eyes flashed slightly green as her grip tightened. "I came here to say something to you. And you're going to listen. ¿Comprende?"

Fear flashed in the once-great mariachi's eyes as he frantically bobbed his head up and down.

Nina's frown deepened, but her hold did not loosen. She did not break Ernesto's gaze, and made sure his did not leave hers either. She knew he was afraid. He had probably assumed he was untouchable behind these bars, especially if it wasn't Día de los Muertos. How wrong he was. He had no idea that the second Nina had gotten in contact with Lucia, she had inherited her full powers and became a full witch. And now she was learning how to use it. "I know you have heaps and heaps of influence here, even if you are a flaming garbage pile of a human being."

"I wouldn't say--"

He was interrupted as Nina thrust her arm forward and pulled it back roughly, slamming his skull against the bars again. She could tell just by brushing against the cell bars that they were enchanted so that skeletons souls could not dissemble themselves and break apart in order to escape. A well-known skeleton like de la Cruz was destined to survive any skull shattering, no matter how intense.

"Like I was saying," Nina cooed with a relentless smile, "you have a lot of influence and might get out of here no matter what you have done in this or any life." Her eyes flashed completely green in a threat display. They remained that horrifying emerald as she spoke. "If you get out of here, or one of your lackeys does, and I find out one of you went near any of the Riveras ever again, I will hunt you down, tear you apart matatarsal by metatarsal, and crush your bones so miscroscopically fine they will be mistaken for flour. Am I clear?"

Ernesto stared at her with eyes widened, a terrified expression morphing his handsome face into that of an idiot's.

She slammed his skull on the bars again. "I said. ARE. WE. CLEAR."

Ernesto whimpered, clamping his eyes tight. "Sí."

Nina's face slackened. "Good. I never want to see your ugly fucking face ever again." She released his vertibrae, and he clattered to the ground on his rear.

She turned on her heel and headed back the way she came.

Ernesto's voice called after her. "You know, Katerina, that I won't be able to access Miguel, even when he dies, right?"

She stopped in her tracks. It was obvious that he was trying to hurt her. Get one last hit in, while he could, before they parted ways for the rest of time. Her voice was calm as she turned her head to give the stupid man a reply he wasn't expecting to hear from her. "Oh, I wouldn't worry about that, Tío Neto. I know I can fix this."

Ernesto brushed himself off. "Very well. It was worth a shot." He smirked at her. "Do tell Miguel I said hello. After all," he derided, "we were family once."

Nina rolled her eyes as she walked away; she would most definitely not be doing that. The pile of bones she had just threatened was hardly worth the effort. But she had had to make sure that he wouldn't seek revenge again. Ernesto seemed like one to need to have the last say in everything.

*A/N: I do not like the expression "it's how they were raised" because it often excuses misogynist/racist/homophobic thinking. I use this expression to explain how peculiar it was to Miguel and how scary, that his father would be so "cuddly" when he normally wasn't.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ooooo Nina not taking anything from anybody


End file.
